


here comes the sun

by tomorrows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Fluff, M/M, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Smut, Surgeons, lots of smartalic kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6588256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomorrows/pseuds/tomorrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Everything’s going to be fine,” Louis promises, his pink, chapped lips moving slowly in the cold. It matches the beanie on his head—pink, because they found out this morning that they’re having a girl and that’s just.</p><p>Harry’s going to be a dad. To a little girl. Five months from now he’ll be holding her in his arms, and she’ll be so lovely and small.</p><p>They’re going to have a spring baby and she’s probably going to have Louis’ eyes. What a blessing that would be. Harry crosses his fingers on the hand inside his pocket, hoping that she does. He’ll love her either way—blue or green or even brown eyes, it doesn’t matter—but he’d really like them to be blue, he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>[Harry is a pediatric specialist, Louis is a neurosurgeon. All they want is a baby.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	here comes the sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itiswhatitisbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itiswhatitisbutterfly/gifts).



> first of all!! i am so thoroughly properly deeply sorry to the mods for being late beyond late with this assignment. i'm v shitty at time constraints and also not a punctual person at all and also Life Is Busy, guys. who knew?
> 
> anyway! this is for the v lovely hannah, whose prompt was:
> 
> When Harry, a pediatric specialist, and his husband Louis, a world class neurosurgeon, decide it is finally time to start trying for kids they think it will be a breeze. They are a dream team in and out of the operating theater but getting pregnant turns into a little more of a mission than they thought it would be. They support each other through the struggle of IVF and other complications and get a happy ending in the end. Featuring lots of Harry with cute babies, super cute power couple doctor husbands and eventual pregnant Harry!
> 
> i hope you enjoy it!! this was a labor of love. also, i hate it but whatever. big, massive, unbelievable amount of love and appreciation to my own karen and raj, for getting me through this.

Harry loves every inch of Louis' body. The smelly sole of his foot, the hairy underneath of his arms, the freckles that dot the stretch of his back. Harry loves Louis' blunt little nails, always so short so as to be good for when they're together; that one longer strand of his fringe that curls at the end whenever he gets sweaty; the thick meat of his thighs that tune out the rest of the world when they're wrapped around Harry's head.  

He loves the way that Louis' body moves, how the muscles in his arms stretch the material of his tops, how his jeans accentuate his curves when he walks—when they're in the middle of sex and his veins pop because his hips are snapping so fast.  

Louis tired is warm and sluggish, clingy for cuddles. Louis excited is a hot surface, ready to throw Harry over his shoulder and wreak havoc. Louis in bed on a Sunday morning is—just.

Harry's favorite boy in the whole world.

He can count on one hand the number of days they've been able to lie in during the last month. In between back to back surgeries and mentoring the new interns, the concept of sleeping in is foreign. Every morning comes with an alarm, and most mornings with two separate ones for their own respective schedules.

And then, sometimes, Harry will get this: a late morning in their London home with nothing but the soft exhales of Louis sleeping beside him. Quiet, just the soft brush of leaves outside and Blossom purring by the foot of the bed. He blinks his eyes open slowly and wakes to their room painted a dull gray, rain clearly in forecast for today. The sight of clouds alone has Harry shivering, curling his toes. He pulls the covers up to his neck and bundles himself up, but the motion sets Louis off and his arm around Harry's chest tightens. Harry has to bury the smile that creeps onto his lips into their sheets, because sometimes Louis can just sense when he's happy, and right now Harry would much rather Louis stay asleep.

Carefully, Harry flips onto his side. The sheets rustle beneath him, the heat from their bodies making his little cocoon warm, like their own small bubble of sunshine. He's completely naked and there's something about skin-to-skin contact first thing in the morning that makes Harry's head spin; his heart flutter; his breath catch. He can feel Louis' touch from top (where their heads rest on the same pillow and Louis' lips brush against his forehead with every breath) to bottom (where their legs are intertwined and the sole of Louis' left foot is pressed against his calves).

Louis blinks at him with sleepy vision and God, his husband is beautiful. Harry has to tilt his head back awkwardly to get a proper look at his husband’s face, but it's worth it. Little sprinkles of hair dust along Louis' chin and above his lip. The curve of his eyebrows are lax and straight in his sleep. His hair is a ruffled mess, undoubtedly from their post-shower activities last night. There's a spot by his temple and two freckles on the underside of his jaw and Harry can't help himself from leaning up and kissing them.

He's pleased to find that Louis' skin is just as sleep-warm and soft against his lips as it is everywhere else. He smells like their cotton sheets and warmth, a bit like Harry as well, having clung to him tightly through the night.

Harry brushes his lips against the rough hairs along the edge of Louis’ jaw (he loves the way it feels against the smooth skin of his lips) until his nose reaches just behind Louis' earlobe and he inhales a deep breath. Harry kisses him, closed-mouth and gentle, behind the ear. He wants to kiss him more, all down his neck and across his chest, but he feels it when Louis begins to stir awake slowly and a smile blossoms across his face.

"Morning," he whispers, just barely a breath, against Louis' skin.

Louis makes a noncommittal sound in response, but he arches his neck and Harry takes that as a good sign.

"Sleepy, baby?"

He kisses the edge of Louis’ sharp jaw before his mouth inches toward his pulse point. He presses another kiss there, but his lips linger.

"You smell so good," Harry hums in a quiet, reverent voice as the scent of Louis' skin and their sheets buries deep within his chest. He smells of morning and sunshine and and the salty sweat of last night, even the faintest note of his cologne evident the further Harry presses his nose.

"You tryin' t’eat me, Harold?"

Harry’s toes curl at the sound of Louis' sleepy-thick voice, the timber of it causing him to purr as he shrinks, attempting to burrow himself a home inside of Louis' chest. "Already did last night," his whispers teasingly. There’s a reason why his own throat feels like hell, after all.

He pokes out the tip of his tongue and goes for a quick, kittenish flick against Louis' collarbones before circling his arms tight around his waist. "Did you sleep well, Bubbles?"

“Depends,” Louis mumbles against his temple, “d’you still plan on calling me Bubbles?”

“Yes, of course.” Harry kisses his husband’s chest, just above his heart. “Always.”

And despite the fight that Louis puts up every time, it stills gets a small chuckle out of him. It’s a warm little noise that Harry’s compared to morning birds and violins before, on more than one occasion. When he puts an inch of space between them and Harry meets his eyes, his heart very nearly stops.

Which isn’t terrible, exactly, considering how often Louis’ been hanging out with Niall in the cardiothoracic wing lately. He could probably patch Harry right up in the blink of an eye himself.

“Hi,” Harry whispers, his breath catching when Louis brushes his thumb across the corners of his eyes.

“Hi, Buttercup.” Louis’ fingertips are light and gentle. He kisses Harry’s chin as he slides their thighs together and squeezes. “What do you think about skipping work today, mmm?”

Harry wants that. He wants that more than he wants to eat Louis up right then and there, and he wants it more than he wants to have 50 of Louis’ babies popping out of him asap. He wants to spend every morning lazing around endlessly with Louis, but he can’t. He knows that.

He has two C-sections today and he needs to run post-op tests on the Haffer triplets, so skipping work is out of the question. Completely. One Hundred Percent.

But then Louis kisses him and his mouth melts against him like butter.

And Harry’s resolve crumbles, the same way it always does. The same way it did when they met in university and Louis laughed into his mouth after an accidental wee in the toilets gone wrong, and the same way it did when Louis proposed and Harry accidentally tackled straight him into the lake behind his mum’s house.

Harry falls for him, completely. He loves every part of Louis.

They end up being two hours late to work.

⚓️

“Do you _have_ to take one of those things every day?”

Harry looks up from the pregnancy test he’s been staring at for the last 47 seconds—not that he’s counting, or anything—willing for it to burst with a bright blue positive sign any moment now. He meets Niall’s raised eyebrow across the couch and pouts. “Yes, Niall. I am. Every single day until it drives you insane.”

“But how can you afford to take one every day?” Niall presses, confused. He lifts his legs onto the coffee table in front of them and crosses his arms curiously. “Each of those things s’gotta be, like, what? Eighteen, 20 quid? That’s—” He pauses for a moment. “Almost 7,000 pounds a year, mate.”

Harry does his very best not to roll his eyes, because he gets this lesson on the regular. Niall should probably spend less time worrying about others’ finances and more about the fact that he asks Harry this same question _every single day_. “I don’t pay for _all_ of them,” he confesses, a small blush heating up his cheeks. “Sometimes the girls in the maternity ward give ‘em to me for free.”

Louis walks over to them and hands Harry a BLT, a small laugh bubbling out of him. “Yeah, like when we got back from renewing our vows last month they gave us an entire gift basket of them.”  

Harry pecks his mouth in quick thanks before sneakily plopping onto his lap the second he sits down. Louis wraps a free arm around his waist, the other sliding under his jumper to rest against his tummy. Harry feels butterflies at the touch, but he tells himself that it’s just from nerves, that’s all. He isn’t 18 anymore.

“You two are disgusting,” Niall scoffs. He bites into his apple with disdain and when he speaks, it’s with his mouth full and little bits of apple flying out.  “Make me sick with your married shit.”  

Louis tugs at Harry’s waist and pulls him away from Niall’s spit zone. “Firstly, you only say that because you’re still pining after Barbara like a lovesick puppy. And second,” he glares, “maybe if you had a bit of hygienic decency, you would stand a chance with her, Horan.”

Harry tries to follow along with the conversation, but he gets distracted by the way Louis’ eyebrows look scrunched up and serious. He softly nudges Louis’ glasses up his nose for him and takes another bite of his sandwich.

Sometimes he likes to watch Louis, take in all the details of his face; admire how every little wrinkle and dimple and freckle dances across his skin when he laughs. Sometimes he likes to just watch Louis speak, even if it’s not with him. The way his lips curl up as his accent gets heavier and his words faster. It’s fascinating, mesmerizing. The best entertainment that’s ever existed.

He’s not paying attention, but he assumes Niall’s said something stupid because he nearly goes flying when Louis reaches over to smack him across the back of the head. Luckily, Harry remains in one piece and Louis’ hold around him tightens, fists bunching up around his jumper to keep his grip.

“Of course we wouldn’t name the baby after you, you dolt.”

“But _Niall Tomlinson_ just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? It’s so—”

This time when Louis smacks Niall, Harry doesn’t go flying anywhere. He’s stays settled perfectly on Louis’ lap, untouched and still totally out of the loop.

“Are we naming the baby already?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Yes!” Niall screams at the same Louis shuts him down with a stern, “ _No_.”

It’s a bit early, considering there isn’t a baby to begin with, but. It’s not the first time they’ve had this conversation.

Harry looks at the pregnancy test in his hand and somehow it’s still not given him a result. Maybe he should switch brands again. He feels like he’s been waiting a hundred years, switching between taking bites of his lunch and glancing at the test. He’s surprised he hasn’t accidentally put the thing in his mouth yet.

As if Louis can read his mind, he chooses then to pluck the test right out of his hand. “Babe, I thought we agreed pregnancy tests were strictly forbidden at mealtime.” He kisses Harry’s cheek in apology. “Anyway, we have an appointment with James pretty soon, too. You can wait that long, can’t you?”

“And _I’m_ the one who needs lessons on personal hygiene,” Niall scoffs under his breath.

Louis barely spares him a glance, waving him off. “If you keep it up, Horan, you’ll be eating one of these for lunch.” As if to add emphasis to his threat, he shakes the pregnancy test close to Niall’s face.

“Alright, alright! I’m leaving, jeez. Terrible crowd, you two.” He jumps off of the couch, grabbing his white coat and throwing his rubbish in the bin. “You can’t go around attacking people with your husband’s pregnancy tests just because your head of neuro now, you know. Maybe _you_ should get lessons in common courtesy.”

Louis ignores him completely and gives him a winning smile, holding out said test. “Be a doll and toss this for us, will ya love? Ta!”

“Hey, no—” Harry struggles, trying to jump off of Louis’ lap, but he’s held down by just one of Louis’ arms and Niall moves too fast.

He grabs it, dumps it out, and skips out of the room before Harry’s even managed to pry Louis’ fingers from around his waist.

“What was that for!” he groans, turning to look his husband in the face, wide-eyed. “It was probably—”

“Probably not worth looking at,” Louis finishes for him instead. He keeps the same dazzling grin on his face as his glasses slip off his nose again and he reaches out with his free hand to card his way through Harry’s curls. “You get so stressed every time you look at one of those things. I didn’t want you to be upset before you have to go in and see Ali. He’ll get all worked up and assume the worst if he sees you frowning again.”

At the mention of Ali, Harry shrinks into himself, this time pouting for real. “It doesn’t upset me _every_ time—” he tries, but he’s cut off short.

“Just every time you look at one, right,” Louis corrects. He stares so intently at him that Harry has to look away, suddenly very fidgety. “Those things aren’t the most reliable, anyway. You know that better than anyone else, _Doctor Tomlinson_.”

Before Harry can respond, Louis is tugging him by the collar and kissing into his mouth. It takes Harry a moment to catch on to what’s happening, but it doesn’t take long for him to latch onto Louis’ sure lips and open up for him. He hums appreciatively and his arms make their way upward until they’re locked tight around Louis’ neck.

“Tuna salad again?” he mumbles against Louis’ mouth, nose scrunched up and features pinched as he giggles. “Really?”

“Shut up,” Louis huffs. “It’s filling and has lots of healthy vitamins.”

“Yeah, you say that ‘cos you’re not the one kissing stinky tuna breath every day.”

He gets a pinch in the bum for that, which. Okay. Maybe he deserved that.

Louis steals another quick peck before slowly kissing his way across Harry’s cheek. “You should be so grateful to kiss my stinky tuna breath. I’ve been kissing your stinky morning breath every morning for the last 11 years now and I have _never_ —” He pauses to nibble at Harry’s ear teasingly, biting at the lobe and suckling behind it until Harry starts writhing around on his lap. He can feel Louis grinning into his skin, now thoroughly flushed and damp. “—Never complained. Not once.”

“Aren’t you just so— _so_.” Harry’s voice breaks. “Noble,” he gasps, a shiver running down his spine.

He hates it when Louis does this; distracts him from a Serious Conversation with his mouth and dirty work. It’s wrong, Harry knows that, but it feels so damn good every time. It shouldn’t feel this good. He should be better at putting up a fight by now.

He’s seconds away from pulling his trousers off and sitting down on Louis’ cock right then and there when he hears the door to the lounge being opened.

“Oi, Christ!” A voice yells in horror. Harry immediately recognizes it as Liam’s, unfortunately. “I thought you two promised no snogging anymore! Some of us eat here!”

Harry’s face is still tucked into the crook of Louis’ neck, whimpering, when he feels something hit the back of his head. And then suddenly Louis’ mouth is gone and he’s left very hot and very much unattended to. He looks up just in time to catch Louis giving Liam the finger, his mouth bruised red and cursing, “Hey! Watch it with your t’ings at my boy, fuckin’ hell!”

God, Harry couldn’t love him more if he tried.

He doesn’t wait for Liam to respond before he tackles Louis’ mouth again and pushes his shoulders until he lands on his back and Harry can straddle him, Liam’s offense long forgotten.

“Don’t you two have a sodding mansion or whatever that you can—”

This time it’s Harry who is quick to cut him off.

“If you don’t leave right this second, Lime,” he swears against Louis’ mouth, “I can’t promise you you won’t see my husband’s dick splitting me open in the next five seconds.”

“Jesus—”

Louis breaks their heated kiss to yell a quick, _“And you can’t watch for free!”_ just as Liam slams the door behind him and disappears.

And despite Harry’s best efforts, Louis can’t seem to stop laughing after that. It’s intoxicating and extremely infuriating at the same time, because Harry can never keep a straight face when Louis laughs, much less when Louis is laughing right into his mouth.

“I hate you so much,” Harry grumbles, finally admitting defeat and collapsing on top of Louis. Still, he has a smile on his (very bruised, very wet) lips and a warm husband giggling against his temple, so he can’t complain too much.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Louis laughs again. His arms circle around his waist once more as he kisses the top of Harry’s head, burying his nose deep in the curls and taking a long breath. “You didn’t seriously think I could hold it together with your _splitting me open_ line, did you? You’re insane, Jesus. Stop watching so much cheesy porno in between surgeries y’weirdo.”

Harry tries to bite at Louis’ nipple through his shirt and hides his face. He hasn’t watched porn in ages, and Louis knows that. “I hate you and your stupid tuna breath.”

“Alright, love. Keep telling yourself that.”

Harry doesn’t get the chance to when Louis starts tickling him into submission.

Unfortunately, he’s always been easy for Louis.

(And there’s nothing he loves more than laughing with his husband, so that doesn’t help much either.)

⚓️

“Fuck— _fuck_ , Louis, Lou—right there.”

Louis slams into him again, skin slapping against skin in the empty room. The force of it leaves Harry shaking against the bed. He buries his face further into the mattress, biting down on his lips, his breath coming out short and stuttered. His knuckles are a deathly white where they’re clenched around the sheets and he doesn’t think he can go for much longer.

He can feel sweat beading up at the small of his back; under his arms; all down his chest. Where his body is connected to Louis it’s the worst; nothing but a wet, sticky, damp mess. It drives Harry crazy, especially where he can feel Louis’ sweaty palms against his lovehandles, blunt nails breaking skin like his life depends on it. He wants to be closer to Louis. He wants to feel Louis marking him, splitting him until it hurts to walk around the hospital tomorrow.

Fuck, he just wants Louis to come in him.

“ _Lou_ ,” he begs one more time, voice muffled against the mattress. “Please, Lou. Just—”

“I know, baby, I know. Almost there.”

He feels the weight of Louis stretched out on top of his back and pressing kisses along his shoulders, sharp little teeth scraping their way across. The change of angle leaves Harry twisting his hips, fucking back on his husband’s cock desperately. “There! _Theretherethere_ , Louis,” he all but shouts.

Louis listens and starts snapping his hips even faster, one hand coming up to fist around Harry’s hair. He twists Harry’s neck to the side, giving himself room to leave bruising marks against the base of his neck, where he knows the collar of Harry’s work shirts will cover up the evidence.

Harry wishes he wouldn’t. He likes walking around with reminders of their moments together. He likes having something to touch in the middle of the day; something that aches deliciously when he’s alone.

But his brain isn’t functioning well enough to voice that concern at the moment. All that comes out of his mouth is little stutters, his curses cut off and breath shaky. Louis’ name plays on an infinite loop leaving his lips, his entire body overwhelmed beyond capacity. It hurts (more than a little) and he knows none of this is going to be fun cleaning up afterward, but right now he’s desperate. He’s not thinking straight. He’s too consumed by Louis’ cock pounding into him and the coiling sensation deep in his gut. He wants to stay like this forever; lost between the sheets and his husband’s body.

“Almost there, angel,” Louis whispers against his ear, his breath hot. “Gonna come for me, won’t you love? Untouched? Baby doesn’t need my hands to come, does he? He’s so good for me.”

Harry nods his head frantically. _“Always.”_

He feels Louis kiss the shell of his ear. “My angel, aren’t you?”

Harry squeezes his fists harder; pushes his arse back faster. He meets the snap of Louis’ hips at every point, his brain nearly shortcircuiting when he feels small beads of sweat and lube trickle down his balls.

When he finally does come he feels his entire body shake with the force of his orgasm. He realizes that he collapses, but he doesn’t register much else until he feels Louis’ hips suddenly stop a moment later.

They stay glued to each other for longer than Harry can keep track of.

“I can’t believe _angel_ gets you off,” Louis mutters some time later, after they’ve settled onto their sides and Harry has claimed his position as the little spoon with pride.

“I can’t believe _you_ get off on calling me angel.”

“S’fitting, though.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums. He rubs his nose affectionately against the back of Louis’ hand where it’s trapped between his arms, circled around his middle. He kisses Louis wedding ring and the tattoo of their wedding date on his knuckles. “I’m sure everything that comes out of my mouth during sex is always very angelic.”

Behind him, Louis laughs into his neck. He peppers stray kisses with affection; nothing further laced in his intentions. “I don’t think any human could possibly make the noises you do, Buttercup.”

Harry hides his smile in Louis’ palm. “I thought you were giving up on the Buttercup thing?”

“You rang into the OR today and called me Bubbles in front of all the residents, Harold,” Louis pinches his cheek in reminder. He sounds tired, pleading. “How am I supposed to forget about it at this point? You need to stop writing my name as Bubbles Tomlinson on the surgery boards. One of the nurses accidentally called me that in front of a patient, Harry, c’mon.”

“But you’re my Bubbles,” Harry whispers sleepily. He shuffles around until he’s closer to Louis’ body, pressed skin-to-skin. Louis’ damp hair tickles against his cheek, but he doesn’t mind it. (He especially doesn’t mind it when Louis kisses his shoulder, just because he can.) “My lovely blue-eyed Bubbles Tomlinson.”

He doesn’t need to see Louis’ eyes to know that he’s rolling them.

“Bubbles and Buttercup Tomlinson.”

“Harry, please—”

“We should get our wedding license changed to—”

Louis uses his other arm underneath Harry’s head to clap over his husband’s blubbering mouth and shut him up. “I swear to God, Harry, if you keep this up—”

Harry licks at Louis’ palm to gross him out, but unfortunately, that’s never worked on Louis before (not once in the 11 years they’ve known each other), and it doesn’t work on him now. Apparently it’s hard to be grossed out by someone licking your palm when you’ve had your tongue inside that person’s arse before. Who would’ve guessed.  

“And what if I don’t?” Harry asks. He wriggles around so he can face Louis properly and wrap his arms around his neck. “What are you gonna do? Fuck the pet names out of me?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Is that your clever way of asking for another go, Harold?”

Harry hitches his leg over Louis’ hip and kisses his mouth, effectively shutting him up. “Don’t think I have to ask very hard, do I?” he whispers against Louis’ puffy lips, breath hot.

The moan that comes out of Louis’ mouth is a good enough answer for him.

“Not gonna stop ‘til we’ve got a little Tomlinson of our own, are you?”

It’s too soon, but he can feel himself thickening up already; Louis’ getting there equally as fast against him. He grinds their middles together and hisses at the sensation. Definitely too soon, but fuck if it doesn’t feel stupidly good.

“You just like me for my sperm,” Louis laughs into his mouth, palms moving up and down his back in wonder; shaping out every little curve of his body. It makes Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head, just feeling the awe and wonder in Louis’ touch.

“You got me, Bubbles. Know me too well.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Harold.”

And then Louis flips him onto his back and fucks him bareback for second (and third) time that night.

Harry still writes _Bubbles Tomlinson_ across the surgery boards the next day, just because he can. Louis doesn’t actually mind all that much.

⚓️

The hardest part about being a doctor, Harry has learned over the years, is getting test results back. Especially in his line of care, he’s learned that very rarely do they come back with good news; news that he’ll want to share with his patients. _His kids_. They’re all his kids, no matter if he sees them just once or once every other hour for weeks on end.

Louis’ been trying to get him to stop thinking of them in that light, but Harry doesn’t think his husband is any better. Louis still knows the birthdays and last names of every patient he’s ever had. They’re both terribly sentimental like that. How they’ve made it this far is more than Harry could ever understand.

It’s harder in pediatrics, though. It’s harder to tell a kid that their leukemia is back than it is to tell a full grown adult who’s already lived so much of their life. Most of Harry’s patients haven’t even been to prom yet, haven’t even had their first kiss yet.

Sometimes Harry just really fucking hates his job.

“I’m so sorry, H.” Greg squeezes his leg underneath the table, voice as sympathetic and quiet as it almost always is when Harry comes down to the lab. “I know how hard you and Ali have been working through this. I’m sorry I have to be the bearer of bad news every time you come down here.”

Harry digs his thumb into the corner of his eyes, willing his tears to keep it together until he’s at least locked himself into a toilet stall or something. “Nah, mate. It’s not your fault. Kind of just the shitty reality of our work, yeah?” He sniffles and blows out a deep breath. He can feel his face heating up already. If he doesn’t get out of the lab within the next two minutes he’s probably not gonna make it and Greg’s going to have to call Louis down for him.

Again.

Greg pulls him into a hug anyway. “Let me know if you need anything, okay? I can get Rose to run the tests again if you want. Maybe it was just a fluke or something. Happens all the time.”

Harry actually chuckles wetly into his embrace, laughing to himself. “Yeah, alright. As if that’s ever happened.”

“It hasn’t yet, but you never know.”

Just then his phone vibrates inside his pocket and Greg pulls away to go to stand up. “You should get that. It’s probably Louis, knowing him.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I have other friends outside of my marriage, you know.”

 **1 Missed Call**  
_❤_ _︎_ _Bubbles Tomlinson_ _❤_

Greg claps his hands in a wild laugh from where he stands, peeking over his shoulder. “Alright, mate. Whatever you say.”

Harry grabs the manila folder with the test results and leaves the lab with his middle finger raised high. He hears Greg’s laughter all the way to the elevators.

⚓️

“I didn’t think she would take it that bad.”

“It’s always harder when it comes back, love. It’s never something a mother wants to hear, much less a second time around.” Louis’ fingers gently work through his hair. He scratches lightly at his scalp, careful of any knots that may have been left over from their shower this morning. “That’s not your fault, though. You know that, love, don’t you?”

Harry burrows deeper into Louis’ chest. He was so sure that he was all cried out for today, but maybe he was wrong. As if breaking down in the elevator after his meeting with Greg and then having to console Ali’s mum for a good three hours wasn’t enough to wear him out for the rest of his life, now he can feel a fresh batch of tears pooling up.

He’s so fucking exhausted.

All the time.

“She was so upset, Lou.” His voice cracks in the dark of the on-call room; his words laced subtly with shame. “She wouldn’t stop yelling about taking Ali home and never coming back here.”

Louis’ hold around him tightens. He kisses Harry’s forehead repeatedly. “But she didn’t. She knows what Ali needs and she knows you’re their best option. She’s a mother, love. Her heart is breaking in so many ways we don’t understand right now.”

“I don’t _ever_ want to understand that feeling,” Harry responds quickly. “I never want to have to go through that, Louis. I never want any of that.”

He can hear the panic rising his voice, so he doesn’t doubt that Louis’ caught on as well. It builds up in him so quickly. His heart races faster and faster, his breathing becoming shallow.

“Baby, no, shh. It’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” Louis pulls him in closer, letting him hide under the starchy covers of the hospital bed and deep in his arms. He kisses Harry’s forehead, kisses his temples. He whispers soothing promises into his ears and lets him cry all his sorrows out.

Even like this, with the bustling noise of the hospital just on the other side of the door and working through their third night shift this week, Harry is grateful for the simple fact of the matter that he has Louis here for him. He has Louis’ arms to hold him; Louis’ shoulders to cry on; Louis’ lips to kiss him; Louis’ voice to calm him through this and many other storms.

He feels like absolute fucking shit right now. He’s already contemplated quitting his job twice in the last fifteen minutes alone, but he thinks about Ali and he thinks about Ali’s mom, Nulifar, and he thinks about the look on Louis’ face when he’d come out of his unbelievably successful 16 hour surgery earlier, and he realizes that he can’t fathom the thought of ever leaving this hospital.

Not yet, at least. Not when there’s so much he still has to do.

“Louis?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Do you think… Do you think we’ll be good parents, one day? When it finally happens?”

It’s a thought that’s been eating him up all day, ever since had to break the news to Ali’s family. Sometimes he’s so sure that being as empathetic as he is is what makes him a great doctor, but then on days like this, it convinces him otherwise. He gets too invested; it’ll always be his Achilles’ heel.

The worst part is it happens the same way every time, like some sort of toxic circle that he can’t escape.

He’ll find himself up all night, crying, petrified at the idea of ever having to be in the shoes of whichever mother’s heart he’s broken that week. (This week it’s Nulifar’s.) And then he’ll think about carrying a human life inside of him for nine months, and find out that the child is terminally ill.

It could happen to him, he reasons. It happens to so many parents that come in and see him.

And then he loses it, completely.

Because Harry doesn’t think he can handle it. He doesn’t think he’s strong enough to endure any of the things he’s seen these mothers face. He’s not as strong as Nulifar.

Nullifar, who has gone through this once already and is going to have to go through it all over again in a few days.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever have her strength.

And then sometimes he worries he’ll never get to know what it’s like to be a parent at all. He’s already convinced himself on more than one occasion that the reason he’s 29 and still childless is because the universe is getting back at him for having to break the hearts of so many parents. Maybe he doesn’t deserve any of the ups _or_ downs of parenthood. Maybe him and Louis should stop trying to conceive. It would explain why the last two years of _trying_ have proven to be completely useless for them.

“I think…” Louis’ voice is quiet against his forehead. Harry wants to crawl under his husband’s scrubs and settle against his bare chest. “You have every right to be scared of all the things that could go wrong when we have a kid. You’re allowed to be scared.”

Harry takes special note of the fact that Louis says _when_ and not _if_. Louis always says _when_.

“But I don't think that you should be.  If something… Were to happen… Then we’d figure it out. Together. The way we always do. I don’t think you should worry about going through anything alone, like Nulifar.”

 _The way we always do._ The way they always have.

“We can’t control everything, though.”

“We can’t, no. But we can control a lot of it.”

Harry is almost tempted to make a joke about just how much Louis loves _controlling_ things, but he doesn’t think now’s quite the time for that.

“I’m scared I’ll never stop being scared,” he confesses instead, quietly. “Sometimes I feel like we should stop altogether. Stop fooling ourselves into thinking it’s going to happen.”

Louis’ fingers are gentle where they brush his fringe away. He doesn’t speak for a long moment, simply breathes in and out.

“I’ve never known you to be so cautious,” he finally whispers. His words are neither condescending nor judgmental.

Harry sighs a shaky breath. He’s so tired. He rests his head against Louis’ chest; lets his husband pull the blanket over their shoulders for him. “M’too old for things that scare me now. Too sleep-deprived for them.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever known you to be well rested.”

“I was pretty relaxed at our wedding. And the honeymoon. That was a good two weeks, I was relaxed then.”

Louis’ laughter is light against his temple, probably because he, too, remembers just how little they actually slept during those weeks. “Relaxed or just completely fucked out of your mind?”

“S’the same thing.”

“For you, yeah.”

Harry says, “Louis,” and this time the humor is gone from his voice. Louis squeezes the arm around his middle knowingly, encouraging him to go on. Harry feels the lump in his throat making its way back; his eyes beginning to sting again. His voice cracks when he speaks. “I still want everything with you.”

“I know.”

“No matter how scared I get.” Harry gets quieter with every word, his body smaller; trying to hide in the comfort of Louis’ hold. “I need all of it. With you. I’m not going to run away from everything that scares me. I’m not going to run away from you.”

“I know you won’t.” Louis lips move against his skin like a promise. He whispers, “I want to give you _everything_.”

⚓️

Harry falls asleep at some point—exhaustion claiming its victory this time around—but he doesn’t realize it. His body simply melts against the sheets; skin hot where it’s pressed against Louis. He falls into a slumber so deep that he misses out even on his dreams. He gives into sleep while still in his scrubs in a dingy on-call room at work, and not for the first (or last) time. He recalls only the comfort of Louis’ arms around him and the faint scent of his husband’s body wash and cologne lulling him to rest. His grip around Louis’ body doesn’t loosen the entire night.

⚓️

When Harry wakes up he is in a car, on the motorway, in clothes that are two sizes too small for him. He’s got a pink beanie on his head that he doesn’t think he’s seen since Louis’ first year of residency, and Tom Fletcher’s voice sings on the radio, violins and acoustic guitars cascading softly against it.

_Dancing on the kitchen tiles,  
Yes you make my life worthwhile_

Harry rubs at this eyes, blinking furiously until he is fully awake. His eyes trail to Louis sitting in the driver’s seat, whistling along with the song and completely untouched by the rest of the universe. Sunlight pours in through the windows to highlight every contour of his form; the muscles of his arm, the slope of his nose, the perfect circle that is his pink, round lips. The golden band on his left hand catches the light and twinkles against the dark leather of the steering wheel, and Harry can’t tear his eyes away from him.

The song comes to an end.

“Didn’t hear you wake up.” The ends of Louis’ lips curve upward just the slightest bit. “Kind of expected you be out for another hour or two.” He takes a hand off the wheel and stretches it over the console. He squeezes Harry’s thigh and Harry's heart still races at the sight of Louis’ wedding band against his body. He hopes he looks tired enough that it doesn’t show. “Sleep well?”

“Considering I woke up in a car, yeah.”

“Sorry about that,” Louis smiles. “You were completely knocked out last night so I let you sleep through the rest of your shift. It was pretty quiet the rest of the night anyway.”

Harry crosses his legs, moving to hold Louis’ palm in between his hands. Warm puffs of air from the heater blow at his bare ankles. “Please tell me you didn’t cover my rounds,” he almost begs. “You were in the OR all day yesterday—you should’ve woken me up. It was irresponsible of me to pass out like that.”

“Shhh,” Louis squeezes his hand. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. S’nothing I haven’t done before.”

_“Lou.”_

Louis doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but the smile on his lips is knowing. This isn’t a discussion he’s going to bother indulging Harry in.

“Are you comfy in your clothes, at least?”

Harry twists his bare ankles subconsciously. He’s not use to the feeling; probably should be, though, after all the years he’s spent stealing things out of Louis’ drawer. “The joggers are a little short.”

“That’s ‘cos all you had in your locker was a pair of white skinnies and a blouse you haven’t worn in, like, at least two years.”

“Oh, the yellow one with the red flowers on it? I love that one. I always keep it there for good luck.”

Louis’ features pinch together in confirmation. “Yet you never wear it, I can only imagine why. Even my too-small clothes seemed like a better idea than that combination.”

“Always easier to kidnap your husband when he’s not in skinnies, right?”

Harry watches him switch lanes toward an exit off the motorway. He’s slowly piecing together where they’re headed and his chest feels warm all of a sudden. It’s not even noon yet, he notices. He’s completely unbothered by how sweaty his palm is getting against Louis’. Louis doesn’t seem to mind either. They squeeze each other’s hands at the same time, always in sync.

“I thought we could use a day off,” Louis responds simply, in tune with the fact that Harry’s caught on to him.

Harry doesn’t respond, but he leans over the console to kiss Louis’ check. “Thank you,” he whispers against Louis’ skin, nosing his way toward his temple and dropping another kiss there. When he settles back in his seat he brings Louis’ hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it. “Aren’t you tired yourself? If you wanna switch, I can take it over from here. You must be exhausted,” Harry’s voice softens. He brushes some of Louis’ hair behind his ear, thumbing at the soft skin behind it distractedly.

“Nah, it’s okay. We’re almost there anyway. I got in a good nap after grabbing some food this morning—there should still be a muffin and a breakfast sandwich in the backseat if you’re hungry. Tea’s probably cold by now though, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry corrects quickly. “You’ve already done more than enough. Thank you, I love you. I love waking up to you.”

The words tumble out of him before he can filter his thoughts. It’s worth it for the soft pink color that warms Louis’ cheeks.

Harry stares at the dark bags under his husband’s eyes and he feels a pang of guilt; wants to kiss at them until they melt away. He’ll wait until they get to Jay’s house, it’s probably not best to risk it right now.

What a terrible way that would be to die, he thinks. Not even having kissed his husband yet.

“Drive faster,” he whispers under his breath.

“—Hmm?” Louis asks, confused. “What was that?”

“Drive faster, please,” Harry says in a much kinder voice. “I wanna snog you, but I’m not in the mood to die trying.”

Louis’ only response is a loud cackle of surprise. Harry still considers it a win when they arrive 20 minutes sooner than usual.

⚓️

A few hours later, Harry finds himself sitting in his mother-in-law’s kitchen, a mug of lemongrass tea in his hands and a plate of half-eaten sugar cookies between them. It’s started raining slowly, but the heat is up high in the Deakin house. Jay’s cheeks are tinted pink with joy as she sits across from Harry, occasionally pinching his cheeks (the same exact way she did when Harry first met her at 18) and asking him if Louis’ been treating him well. She’s off from work for the rest of the week, so she’s been spending all her free time baking recipes that Anne has sent her and waiting for the twins to get home from school.

“It’s so nice to have you boys over.” Jay sips her cuppa around a wide smile; eyes alight with glee. “Dan’s out of town until Friday and the house is so much quieter now with Fiz and Lottie gone. I thought having seven kids meant I’d have a little more on my hands,” she laughs. “M’starting to think maybe I should have a few more.”

Harry’s heart almost stops. “Christ, Jesus, don’t say things like that.” He nearly spits out his drink, coughing into his fists. “I’ll never understand how you did that, by the way. Seven kids is… _A lot._ _Way_ too much. I’ve helped someone give birth to quadruplets once, and I still can’t understand it.” He looks at her, really looks at her, with her clear skin and dimpled cheeks. “How do you even have the energy to get out of bed in the morning?”

Jay smiles at him warmly. “It’s much easier when you wake up next to the right person.  Someone who makes you feel stronger than you think you are.” She takes a small bite of her cookie, careful not to get any crumbs on the floor. “Did I ever tell you about the first time Louis told me about you? It was few weeks after you two had finally started dating, and he just rang me up out of nowhere.”

“You haven’t, no.” Harry raises a curious eyebrow. He’s heard a lot of stories about Louis’ phone calls home from when they first got together—mostly from Lottie, always hell-bent on embarrassing her older brother to an early death—but rarely from Jay. Harry knows how important Louis’ relationship with his mother is (and always has been), so it doesn’t surprise him that there are things he doesn’t know about it.

Jay nods her head. “He called me home after one of your dates—I think it was your two month anniversary, maybe? Something like that, could’ve been earlier. I only remember because it was almost four in the morning and I had an overnight shift that day, so I was in the lounge with some of the girls and Louis—he called me and he wouldn’t stop talking. He wouldn’t shut up! He went on and on for nearly an hour about this boy he’d met called Harry, who he hadn’t told me about until then because he wasn’t sure how serious it was.”

Harry’s entire face goes red. He remembers that night, much more vividly than he’d like. He knows exactly  what’s about to come out of Jay’s mouth, but even that can’t stop the embarrassment that quickly consumes him.

 _God_ , why didn’t he have some kind of brain-to-mouth filter at 18?

“He told me that the two you spent the entire night talking about baby names.” Jay’s teasing grin turns into something softer; something more understanding.

Harry can see her reliving the memory in her glassy eyes. He almost wishes he were a fly in that nurses’ lounge all those years ago—or at the least, conscious enough after Louis had fucked his brains out for the first time to overhear Louis’ end of that conversation.

“I’d never heard Louis so happy until that night. He’s always been good with the girls but I never… We hadn’t discussed that far into the future at that point. He was only 18; he hadn’t even had his first boyfriend yet.”

Harry bites down on his bottom lip, his red cheeks dimpling in. That much he knows.

“Weren’t you just the wake-up call of his life, Harry.”

Harry stares down at the marble countertop, too speechless to muster a response. His heart beats loudly enough in his chest. He’s sure that Jay can hear it. The whole universe can hear it, he thinks.

Sometimes it feels like his heart is the center of the universe; too big to fit inside his chest anymore. This is one of those moments.

Johannah moves to hop out of her seat. She makes her way around the counter until she’s standing next to Harry and pulling him into a warm embrace, her arms tight around his shoulders. She sways their bodies together. (The same way her son does, Harry thinks to himself.)

“You’ll make lovely parents when the time comes,” Jay whispers in the quiet of her kitchen, her words meant just for the two of them. “Every morning won’t be easy, but it’s going to be worth it because you have the right person by your side.”

When she pulls away, Harry notices a stray tear escaping the corner of her eye. Her glassy vision makes his own blurry and wet; a lump building in his throat and his palms beginning to sweat.

“But you already know what that’s like, don’t you,” she says.

It’s not a question so much as it is an observation.

Jay kisses his forehead and holds him close for a moment longer. “I’m going to go pick the twins up from school now,” she says around a weepy smile. She wipes at her eyes and takes a step back, shaking the emotions out of her system. “Alright, well, I’m going to see myself out. Could you lower the heat of stew and wake your husband up before I’m back with the kids, please? I don’t want them jumping on the bed and nearly breaking his hand like last time.”

“That hand alone is worth a million pounds,” Harry quips, doing his best to mock Louis’ snobby authoritative voice.

Their ongoing joke about Louis’ world-renowned precision and skill with the needle is quick to get a toothy chuckle out of Jay.

“Oh, God. Please kill me before I have to hear him talk about that interview with the New York Times ever again.” She leaves him with a final squeeze around his upper arms.

Even after he hears the sound of the front door being closed and the Jay’s tires pulling out of the driveway, Harry stays seated in the empty kitchen for a little longer, collecting his thoughts.

Every time they visit the Tomlinson/Deakin household, he feels like he gets tenfold more emotional than he normally is. He doesn’t know what it is about Jay and all of her kids that makes him so ready to constantly put his heart on his sleeve. It must be all the crayoned art-work still clinging to the fridge or the colorful, mismatched mugs in the cupboards. Possibly the wooly quilts hanging over the back of the couches or the knowledge that this is not just his husband’s home, but this is his as well now. Has been for quite some time.

He _is_ part of the Tomlinson/Deakin home. He has his own chipped mug in the cupboard; his own Christmas stocking that’ll be up in a few months. His number is programmed into everyone’s speed dial and his face appears in at least a dozen photos that line all across the walls of the house.

This place is just as much his home as Louis is.

He gives himself another minute to finish his tea before he’s making his way over to the stove. He lowers the heat and then washes both his and Jay’s mugs. After he’s wiped the counter down, he finally makes his way out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

The first time he’d met Louis’ family they were still living in his childhood home. It was a smaller house than their current one; Dan and the youngest twins not in the picture yet. The wooden floors would creak under every step of his foot and there were little marks still left in the wall by the foyer, a synopsis of all the Tomlinson kids over the years.

It still surprises Harry now, years later, how this newer, bigger, fancier home feels no different than the first. The color scheme is a little brighter and there are a lot more windows, but a lot of the photographs are the same. There are new etchings into the walls, but it smells the same. Like vanilla and home and dinners with the whole family around the table.

It’s also much quieter now with Fizzy, Lottie, and Louis gone. Even though Harry grew up in a quiet household, having Louis in his life has dispelled everything he thought he know about silence being golden. The Tomlinson house from his memories was never a place of rest.

Now it just feels weird to be walking around an empty home with nothing but the sound of his own footsteps to keep him company.

When he walks into the guest room Louis is sleeping in, Harry is light on his toes and careful. The room is almost pitch black, heavy curtains keeping the gray skies away. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on when he settles by the edge of the bed, close to Louis’ face. The mattress creaks under his weight, but Louis doesn’t even so much as stir.

Harry can’t blame him. Jay had barely gotten a hug and kiss out of him before Louis bolted upstairs and collapsed onto the bed, glasses still on his face and phone still mid-text in his hand.

Just enough light filters into the room from the hallway that Harry can see the details of Louis’ face. He has the blankets pulled all the way up to his chin, the rest of him buried deep underneath there. His arms are clasped tight around a pillow half his size. He looks too peaceful to wake.

Harry hadn’t even gotten a kiss out of him before he’d passed out. So much for all that snogging he was promised.

He combs through Louis’ fringe slowly. Louis’ forehead is a little sweat-damp underneath his fingertips; hair a little tangled. Harry’ll have to brush it for him whenever he wakes up. He continues anyway.

He moves backwards on the bed until his back meets the headboard. Carefully, he pries the pillow out from Louis’ arms and moves his head onto his lap. He’s gentle with his movements, but Louis stays lost in slumber. One of his arms slips over Harry’s knees and somehow, even in his sleep, Louis adjusts himself closer to Harry’s chest, nuzzling his face against Harry’s stomach. He hums contently and Harry watches his husband’s chest rise and fall peacefully. Harry’s fingertips graze the back of Louis’ neck. He curls a strand around his ring finger, eyes never leaving the pink of Louis’ lips; the curves of his lashes.

Jay will be home soon, he knows. The twins’ schools aren’t that far away. Once they find out that Louis is in the house they won’t be able to contain their excitement. Harry probably should have locked the door behind him before getting comfortable.

He probably, definitely, shouldn’t have let himself get into bed with Louis, either. Now all he can think about is sliding down the mattress and pressing his lips to Louis’, falling asleep with their heads on one pillow so they’re facing each other. He wants to be pressed close to Louis’ chest and feel the warmth of his breath against his skin.

Harry drops a kiss to the top of Louis’ sleep-ruffled head, squeezing the back of his neck. He closes his eyes.

They can have a few more minutes to themselves, he reasons.

⚓️

“You can’t fuck me in the shower, Louis.”

“Why not? It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

Louis takes another step toward him. Harry slaps his eager hands away before they can grasp his hips. He’s been in this exact situation one too many times already; he knows every move that Louis is going to make before he even makes it.

“Yeah, but not with your mum getting the kids ready for school downstairs. What if one of them walks by and hears something? How the hell would we explain that to them?”

“Then we’ll just have to be extra quiet, won’t we?” Louis’ voice drops an octave as he slides in between Harry’s legs, nudges him until he’s pressed against the bathroom wall. His breath is warm against Harry’s chin; eyelashes blinking at him slowly.

 _Fuck_ , Harry thinks to himself. It’s only seven in the morning. His will should not be this weak already.

“I’m not the one who can’t keep it down,” he reminds Louis.

Louis’ eyes have long turned dark, the blue in them gone. He sneaks his hands out of Harry’s grip and runs them down his sides, stopping when they reach the bright blue towel wrapped around Harry’s waist. He looks up from under his lashes to meet Harry’s eyes, curious and hungry. “I promise I’ll be quiet,” he bargains.

“You’re never quiet.”

Louis steps even closer; starts leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along the column of Harry’s neck. “Because you feel so good around me, baby. I can’t help myself when I’m with you.”

“ _Lou_ —” Harry groans. He bares his neck (and hates himself—even more when he wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and pulls him in). It’s early in the morning and they need to be on the road in an hour, but _fuck_ he could use a little quickie (or ten).

“ _Fuck_ —fuckfuckfuck. Okay, fine, fuck, if we do this you need to work fast and keep your mouth shut. I promised Jay we’d be down in 15 to say goodbye to the kids before Dan takes them to school. Also you have to drive us home, then.”

Louis bites his sharp canines at the edge of Harry’s jaw, suckling at his skin teasingly. “I always do the driving.”

“Yeah, and that’s only because every time we come to your mum’s your weird exhibitionist kink starts kicking in and you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

When Louis laughs, the sound of it gets muffled against his ear. “When have I ever been able to keep my hands to myself around you?”

“Good point. Now go start the shower.” Harry pushes Louis at the chest until they’re (unwillingly) separated. “ _Go_ ,” he repeats when Louis does nothing but stand there raking his eyes all down Harry’s body, gaze lost where the towel has slipped enough to show off the deep curves of Harry’s hipbones. “Lewis.”

His husband looks up at him a moment too late and warmth spreads in Harry’s chest. Sometimes he forgets that he has this kind of effect on Louis, who is normally so cool and collected, never tripping over his words or missing a step. He is world-class neurosurgeon Louis Tomlinson, after all.

If only the rest of the world knew that world-class neurosurgeon Louis Tomlinson has trouble keeping it in his pants.

Harry loves him.

⚓️

Two weeks later, Harry finds himself running late to a dinner when he gets an uncomfortable ache in his stomach. It’s been on and off all day, but for some reason the moment he steps foot into the restaurant it begins to act up again, more painful than ever. He’s wincing, little beads of sweat building at the base of his spine as one of the hostesses guides him to the correct table. He prays she can’t see sour look on his face, or the sweat stains that must surely be drenching his clothes at this point.

Liam is the first to see him and waves him over excitedly. “Hey! You finally made it!”

Harry notices the back of Louis’ head from the corner of his eye (as well as the empty seat beside him), but he makes his way around the table first. “Hi, hi, sorry I’m late,” he apologizes, letting Liam pull him into a tight hug. It hurts a little when Liam’s arms come around his waist, but Harry tries his best to hide it. “I didn’t make you guys wait too long, did I?”

Harry glances at Louis quickly, subconsciously, checking in on his facial expression. Louis had the day off from work and this is the first time Harry has seen him since the morning. He looks good, from the little that Harry notices; well-rested and clean-shaven. It’s a good look on him. Goes well with the burgundy sweater he’s stolen from Harry’s wardrobe.

Quickly, Harry hugs his way through their line of friends; Jade, Greg, Niall, and a girl called Jesy that Niall has invited. (One of his many attempts at finding love via Tinder, Harry presumes, but he keeps his mouth shut. Niall will eventually get through to Barbara one day.)

“Hey,” he whispers under his breath when he finally gets to Louis at the end of the group. Everyone sits down at the same time, Louis holding his chair out for him. Harry pecks his mouth in thanks. The lights in the restaurant are dimmed down enough that when Louis places his palm on Harry’s thigh and squeezes, Harry doesn’t have to worry about their friends noticing the pink on his cheek.

“You okay?” Louis asks from beside him. He drags his chair over a couple of inches and hooks his ankle around Harry’s under the table.

As if on queue, another round of cramps go off around Harry’s middle. He grits his teeth, hard, and his toes curl in agony inside his shoes. He waits for the sensation to pass before blowing out a deep breath and nodding his head. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Traffic was a bit hectic and the interns were driving everyone crazy today, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” Louis tucks a springy curl that’s fallen out of his bun behind his ear. He rubs his thumb around the edge of Harry’s jaw; voice low and eyes boring into his, despite their company. “You’re a bit warm, love.”

Harry presses the back of his hand against his forehead. “Really? I feel okay.”

Louis fixes him with an unamused look.

“What? I do.”

Although his stomach begs to differ (again).

“Oi! Lovebirds!” Greg jeers from across the table. “What’ll you have for drinks?” He points to the waitress standing right beside them, pen and paper in her hand and a blush on her cheeks that makes it clear she’s been standing there for a while.

“Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry. We didn’t hear—” Harry blubbers, tripping over his words.

Lous is quick to lace their hands together on his lap and speak up. “We’ll have two ginger-ales and some water—no ice—please, thanks love.” He gives her grateful smile and waits for her to walk off before turning his attention back to Harry. It almost makes Harry feel bad for ignoring their friends, but it’s been a long fucking day and he doesn’t think he should have to feel guilty for wanting nothing more than to curl up in his husband’s arms right then and there.

So he does just that.

Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder and lets his body sag against his husband’s, sighing a breath of relief when Louis lets go of his hand only to draw it around his waist. His palm draws slow circles at the small of his back and it feels so good that Harry almost misses the disgusted looks on all of their friend’s faces.

He can’t seem to remember why they ever agree to these dinners.

“I kind of wanna make fun of them,” Niall says, elbows on the table and staring straight at them with narrowed eyes, “but—soz, Haz—you do sorta look like shit, mate, so I’ll let it slide this time.”

“ _Niall_ ,” Jesy hisses beside him. She slaps his shoulder, a little rougher than Harry would have expected from her, especially considering how round and sympathetic her brown eyes go as soon as they land back on Harry. “Are you okay, love? Do you need anything?”

Louis ducks his head to whisper privately to Harry, “I like her already.”

“No, I’m okay, thanks,” Harry answers her around a grin. His entire body feels like it’s going to give up on him, but at least Louis is there to make him laugh. “It’s just a little stomach-ache, it’ll be gone once I get some food in me.”

“Are you sure? We probably shouldn’t have picked a seafood place…”

“Yeah,” Niall chips in, “especially considering how much Louis and Harry hate fish.”

Harry can physically sense Louis rolling his eyes, the sheer force of it almost palpable.

Unsurprisingly, so is everyone else at their table.

“Ha, ha, Niall. You’d think you’d be smart enough to retire that joke after 11 years of it failing miserably.”

“One of these days, bro… You never know.”

It’s even less surprising that the rest of the night goes much of the same way; filled with bad jokes and shameless teasing. The food is okay—Harry is starving until his food finally comes, and then suddenly his appetite disappears and he has to spend the rest of his night nursing his ginger-ale and stealing bites of Louis’ grilled veggies—and Harry doesn’t know why Louis doesn’t have a drink like everyone else, but he’s grateful for it. It means he doesn’t have to wait that long for his friends to get tipsy before he can get away with stealing kisses from Louis unashamedly, practically crawling onto his lap at one point.

Louis’ mouth is warm and pliant, his lips constantly in a grin and teeth teasing. They’re lucky to be in a corner of the restaurant, far away enough that no one admonishes them for behaving like a couple of teenagers. It’s just a bit of harmless snogging, Harry reasons. He hasn’t seen his husband in 12 hours; he’s allowed to be clingy.

And then a certain topic comes up—the way it always does—that has Harry feeling as poorly as he did when he first walked into the restaurant.

“So Niall told me you guys have your appointment with Dr. Corden next month. How are you feeling about that?”

In Greg’s defense, while he knows quite a bit about how difficult the last two years have been on him and Louis, he doesn’t know exactly the full extent of it. Like the adoption papers sitting in the bottom drawer of their home office, or the nursery that’s already been painted and furnished for years now. Or, most evidently, how the subject of pregnancy has made him want to crawl in a hole and die these last few days. It feels like a never-ending roller coaster of emotion, and right now Harry knows that he’s at a low point, but it scares him to think that this is possibly the end—that there is no going up from here.

Harry can’t blame poor Greg and his puppy dog eyes for the universe’s sick sense of humor.

Louis must sense the shift in his mood because he squeezes Harry’s waist and drops a kiss to his temple, nothing short of sympathetic and warm. “We’re excited but—you never really know with IVF, right? Nothing can be guaranteed on the first go, so we’re hoping for the best.”

“It’s our best bet at this point.” Harry shrugs his shoulders. “We don’t really have that much of a say in anything anymore.”

“Hey, no, don’t talk like that,” Liam says quickly. He reaches for Harry’s hand across the round table, practically throwing himself over the thing. “You guys will get there, I promise. No one deserves to bring a kid into this world more than you two. You’re going to make great parents whenever the time comes. Things are going to work out as they should, I promise”

Beside Harry, Jade squeezes his shoulder and rubs a soothing palm down his arm. “You know how much I hate agreeing with Liam, but he is right, love. It’s been a long process, but you’re going to get there soon. And you’re going to be so happy when you do. Who knows? Maybe this time a month from now we’ll be sitting around the table celebrating your little bump.”

Harry’s face goes warm at the idea of a bump. His heart begins to race a little faster, just from imagining himself with a shirt that’s too tight around his middle; a glow to his skin that’s never been there before. He wants it so bad. He wants this kid _so_ bad.

“You could even be knocked up right now!” Niall cheers on, his glass of wine already in the air and glasses long thrown aside. “You never know!”

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Harry mumbles, rolling his eyes without bite. The chances of that are literally less than zero. Harry should know, he snuck another pregnancy test behind Louis’ back a week ago.

“Well if this Corden guy can’t work his magic then I swear on me mum’s grave I’ll go and kick his arse for ya’. I’m ready to be a godfather, already.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose and groans. “For the love of all that is sacred, Niall, you do realize you aren’t going to be a godparent, right? How many times are we supposed to repeat that to you before it sinks in?”

“Who would you pick other than me, though? Greg? _Liam?_ I saw both of them trip over a spoon the other day. Good luck getting these idiots to teach your kids how to ride a bike or play golf.”

“You can barely do either of those things yourself,” Harry reminds him dryly. “ _‘Oh no, Niall!’_ Remember?”

Niall’s face goes so red that Harry almost doesn’t notice it over the sound of their entire table bursting into hysterics.

“We need to change the subject right now immediately,” Niall fumes.

⚓️

Later that night when they’re in bed, the subject comes up again. It’s dark and they’ve already washed up and gotten into their pajamas. In the corner of the bed, Blossom purrs softly in his sleep. It’s almost midnight, but they don’t have to be in the hospital until noon, so Harry is okay with a rare late evening. His body feels thoroughly spent, sore and aching in places he wasn’t even aware one could ache until now.

“Louis?” he whispers, husband practically glued to his back.

“Yeah, Buttercup?”

Harry hides his smile into the pillow. He thanks all the powers that be that the pet name is finally catching on with Louis. It makes up for the nervous coiling inside of his chest.

“Do you think maybe we should consider adoption more seriously? Like, not just as a backup plan?”

“Harry…”

“No, I just—” He searches for Louis hand against his stomach and brings it up to his lips, kissing it before resting it underneath his cheek. He takes a breath. “Adoption is such a long process. I just think, like. It would be smart to get started right now, in case things don’t work out again, you know? I don’t…” Harry’s voices gets quieter. “I don’t wanna lose more time, Lou.”

“H…”

“I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Just pretend like I didn’t say anything and we can go back to sleep.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, don’t apologize,” Louis says in reassurance, kissing his shoulder. It leaves Harry’s skin tingling. “You have a valid point, anyway. If we—if we really want this, then we should be more pragmatic. Proactive.”

“And it's not a terrible idea, is it? I’ve been thinking about it and… Surrogacy isn't so crazy either. There are so many ways we could make this work, Louis.” Harry flips onto his side so that they’re facing each other. “We shouldn't rule things out anymore.”

Harry can't tell what shade of blue Louis’ eyes are in the dark, but they're fierce and strong nonetheless. There is such a weight behind his gaze that Harry’s skin feels hot, suddenly, his heartbeat picking up. Sometimes he forgets that Louis is his husband; the one person who knows him better than he knows himself, and there is nothing that he should worry about.

So long as he has Louis with him.

Louis’ voice is quiet but clear when he speaks. “I'll do anything to make you happy, Harry. I'm not ruling anything out—whatever it takes, I promise.”

Harry’s heart feels like it may burst into pieces. It's been feeling like that a lot lately—always on the edge of an emotional meltdown—but usually it’s for a good reason.

Like, for example, the fact that the most wonderful human to ever grace this earth loves him. _So fucking much._

No one ever warned Harry about how deeply his heart could belong to someone else. Either way, he doesn't think that warning would have done him much.

He kisses his husband and he falls asleep in his arms; beloved.

⚓️

Harry is in the nursery checking up on one of the Haffer twins when there’s a knock on the window. He looks up from Hadi’s little pebble brown eyes to find Louis standing in the hall on the other side of the window. Harry gives him a curious raise of the eyebrow and Louis motions for him to wait a second before pulling out his phone to type something out. Unsurprisingly enough, Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket not a moment later.

 _Can I hold the baby now ?_ ☹️

Harry looks down at innocent little Hadi in his onesie, completely unaware of what’s going on.

_If he pees on you again, I’m not taking the blame x_

He’s barely sent the text off before he hears the doors being opened, quick footsteps making their way toward him. His hold around Hadi tightens subconsciously; weirdly protective for no reason. It catches him off-guard when a pair of arms loop around his middle.

Louis hooks his chin over his shoulder. “That’s not the baby I was talking about.”

Hadi makes a gurgling noise of surprise and mild pleasure at the sight of Louis’ face. (Harry pretends like he doesn’t as well.) He squirms a little in Harry’s arms, nearly kicking him in the chest.

“See what you’ve done?” Harry admonishes his husband in a hushed voice, careful of the room full of babies sleeping around them. “You got him all excited, now he’s never going to go back to sleep.”

“Nah, I think he’s just jealous that I’m about to steal you from him.”

“Not with those lame jokes, you’re not.”

“That was a very good joke, Harold, don’t lie to yourself.” Louis presses himself closer to Harry’s back, curling up against him. Harry picks up a subtle wave of his cologne and tries to keep his knees from buckling when the rough patch of Louis’ chin brushes against the corner of his neck, just below his jaw. It feels so good that he almost misses Louis humming along to Mariah’s _Always Be My Baby._

Louis is the worst.

“Louis, you are the worst.”

“Am not.” Louis nips at his earlobe with sharp teeth, teasing and defensive. “C’mon. Put Hadi down, I need to show you something.”

On cue, Hadi makes a sound of protest. His soft little features pinch together in distaste. Sometimes it completely astounds Harry how perceptive infants can be, even as young as they are. Hadi definitely isn’t exempt from that. Harry always has trouble letting things go—specifically, putting children down once he’s got them in his arms—but there’s something about the Haffer triplets that makes his heart soar with every little noise they make.

“I don’t think Hadi has deemed you worthy of my time,” Harry says, words full of cheek and dimples popping out. He’s totally fine with spending the rest of his lunch here in the nursery with Louis. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve done it, anyway.

“I think,” Louis starts, his voice getting quieter as he speaks directly into Harry’s ear, so low that Harry has to strain just to hear him over the sound of the monitors and heater. “If any of the babies in this room knew what I had in mind for you, we would both be in a lot of trouble, love.”

A jolt of arousal flushes through Harry’s chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He doesn’t want to get his hopes up but.

“It means you need to put little Hadi down right now so I can get you somewhere…” He pauses, searching for the right words. _“More appropriate.”_

Harry doesn’t know what that means, but he is weak-kneed and hot already. “Uh. Um, yeah, okay. I just—let me—”

“Harry.” Louis’ voice cuts through his mumbling. His nails dig deeper where they’re wrapped around his hips. He squeezes them, once, before pushing them back until Harry’s bum is pressed right against Louis’ crotch. Harry’s breath stutters, his circulation nearly cutting off when Louis states, simply and clearly, “I’m hungry, love.”

A string of curses nearly come spewing out of Harry’s lips before he reminds himself where they are and that legally, well, they should definitely, probably take it down a notch.

He gives himself a moment to cool off, determinedly not trying to focus on the thick outline of Louis’ cock pressed against his arse or worse—envisioning himself ten minutes from now, knowing he’ll be on his back with Louis’ head between his thighs.

“I hate you,” Harry mumbles, flustered, through gritted teeth, pulling himself out of Louis’ hold. “Why do you always put us in the worst possible incriminating situation? If someone walked in right now they would have both our heads off.”

Behind him, Louis just sighs tiredly. (Probably rolling his eyes.) (Harry can’t stand him.) “Are you gonna put Hadi down, sugar, or do I have to do it for you?”

“I’m doing it, I’m doing it,” Harry bites.

He steps towards Hadi’s small crib almost unwillingly, careful not to break eye contact with the newborn. He’s not sure why, but he’s noticed over the last few weeks the intensity of the small child’s gaze, how it never seems to stray away from Harry for too long whenever he’s in the room. It’s probably just because Harry’s face was the first he saw when he was born—far too small and premature—but it still gives him a weird feeling, regardless.

“Sweet dreams, petal.” Harry drops a gentle kiss to Hadi’s forehead. He squeezes the boy’s little fists affectionately. “I’ll be back to check on you and your sisters later. Be nice to the nurses, okay? They’re working hard to keep you healthy.”

When he finally sets Hadi down, he blows out an overwhelmed breath before turning to face Louis. He’s about to tell him that they better get going—and fast, because Harry has a meeting in an hour—but his words fall short when he notices the look on his husband’s face. It’s something unlike anything Harry's seen before, a combination of fierce enamor and fear; like complete devotion and bewilderment. He can see flashes of emotion in stormy blues, Louis heart racing through every one of them under the sun. His jaw is wound tight, eyebrows furrowed deeply. His cheekbones are sharp and cut clean where he’s biting down on the inside of one of his cheeks. Louis looks like art in distress; his body radiating off a storm that Harry’s never experienced before.

“Lou…” Harry walks towards him carefully, unsure. “Are you okay, love? Is something wrong?”

He’s barely reached a palm out to touch Louis’ arm when the other man pulls him in roughly by the collar and fits their mouths together. It feels like an attack, how quickly and by surprise it takes Harry, but Louis’ lips are warm and wet and loving, and his tongue moves against Harry’s as if begging to get infinitely closer to him. Harry is remotely aware of the dozen or so newborns around them, but his body works on its own accord wherever Louis is involved, and right now it wants for nothing more than to be glued to Louis, lips seared together blissfully.

“What was that for?” Harry pants against his husband’s wet, bruised lips when they part. Their chests rise and fall together in unison. Harry can feel the sweat building under his arms and between his legs, his entire body flushed a deep red. He feels like he’s on fire, but that’s always been a constant with Louis.

“Because I love you,” Louis answers back simply. He knocks their foreheads together. When he breathes out again, his breath is cool against Harry’s mouth. “I don’t think that sums up exactly how I feel, but it’s the best I can do and I just—” He stops. “I love you so deeply, sometimes it feels like you can’t possibly be real…like I’ve made you up in my head, or something.” His voice gets quieter. “How are you _real_? How are you mine?”

The only answer that Harry can put together comes in form of another bruising kiss. His heart leaps in his chest when their mouths touch. He tells himself not to cry, this isn’t the time for that.

“I could ask you same thing, you know.”

“No—no, no. You’re everything, Harry. You’re everything.”

His voice sounds breathless against Harry’s mouth, his words lost in awe. Harry has to pull away for a second just to look at him, to meet his eyes and remind himself that this is real. He is real, Louis is real, and they have each other. They’ll always have each other.

And then he throws himself at his husband a second time and captures his lips in a heated, hungry kiss.

“If you don’t fuck me right now I think I’m going to die,” he whispers into Louis’ mouth, stealing small licks against his top lip. “I’m very much real, and I am very much yours, forever, so please hurry up and let’s get out of here. I want you so bad it hurts.”

It takes a moment for Louis to respond, but when he does, the smile on his lips is so pure and blinding that Harry has to drag him out of the nursery by his tie just to kiss him senseless again. They only stop when one of the anesthesiologists who normally works with Louis walks by and makes a faux retching noise of disgust.

From there they stumble through the florescent halls of the hospital, speed-walking through so as to not be noticed by their colleagues, hands laced together in secret between their bodies. Harry is pretty sure everyone knows what they’re up to, if the not-so-subtle hand Louis keeps over his crotch and the wild state of Harry’s hair are any signs to go by. He’s grateful that this is neither their first nor their last attempt at shagging in the workplace.

And then when Louis finally does get him into one of the on-call rooms and settles between his legs, Harry feels the weight of the whole universe melt off his shoulders. He sinks into the starchy sheets and Louis sinks into him, first with his tongue and then with his cock, both times with a force and rigor that is incomparable. Harry has had his wits fucked out of him before, but it’s never felt this all-consuming; never quite felt like he could burst with every thrust of Louis’ body into his. It shakes him and it hurts, a little; his thighs straining where they’re bent at his chest and his heart beating so fast that he worries it may stop altogether.

But Louis is there. And Louis’ voice is there, and Louis’ touch is there. Even when Harry can’t see his face and has to only go by the twisting and curling of his tongue inside of him, Harry feels Louis embedded deep within him. Every point at which their bodies touch is a small universe; a star that has exploded into existence. It lasts for just over half an hour—and Harry can't remember for the life of him the last time they fucked this thoroughly in such a short period of time—but when he’s coming down from his high, his entire body feels like they've been going at it for days instead.

“You're going to regret not letting me use a condom in about ten minutes, you know,” Louis mumbles sleepily against his collarbone some time later. He’s collapsed on top of Harry, cock still buried deep and pulsing with small aftershocks periodically.

Harry knows he’ll regret it, too, but he’s nonplussed. Condoms are for losers, as far as he’s concerned. Not spouses who want to feel their husband’s come dripping out of them when they walk.

“No I’m not,” Harry argues back, weak, just because he can.

“You will,” says Louis. “And then you’ll try to go another round in the showers and we’ll both nearly crack our skulls open. Again.”

Harry yawns, a little cold now. He’s grateful that Louis’ body is there to keep him warm and covered and grounded. “I thought you were a fan of shower sex?”

“Don't use my own words against me, Tomlinson.”

“Alright,” Harry concedes, cupping the back of Louis head and threading his finger through his husband’s sweaty little knots. (He doesn't know why everyone is always making fun of Louis for playing with his hair; he spends just as much time lost in Louis’ locks.) “Just tap my hip whenever you're ready to go again. I kind of wanna blow you before my meeting.”

He’s noticed that getting his throat fucked gets his voice hoarse and much deeper. It makes him sound older; more mature. It’s his go-to trick for department meetings whenever he has to pitch a new proposal for a ridiculously expensive addition to their wing.

(And maybe he gets off on the idea of pleasing Louis and being good for him. It helps settle any and all of his nerves. Who can blame him?)

“You know…” He can feel Louis stretch his muscles out lazily. His lips graze the base of Harry’s neck, stealing wet little kitten licks just so he can hear Harry’s breath hitch. “I could just eat you out again. Won't need a shower if I clean you up with my mouth, would you?”

Harry’s cock jerks in interest. It’s only slightly painful.

Louis notices, obviously.

“Up for it, Harold?”

Harry rolls his eyes and pushes Louis back down between his legs. “Just get going, already.”

He squeezes his thighs around Louis’ head and closes his eyes, effectively shutting his husband up.

⚓️

Every year, St. Joseph’s hospital has an annual football game against the police officers of one of the local stations just a few days before Halloween.

Every year, Harry does his best to convince the rest of his colleagues that he deserves to be in the starting lineup. And every year, Louis is the sole person to agree with him.

This year is no different.

Harry can see where they’re coming from, to be fair. He does have two left feet any time a pitch is involved, and his tackles are always too gentle for the burly men of the police station. He’s not competitive enough (his competitive streak only comes alive during board games) and his aim isn't always the best. He’s definitely gotten better over the years, but still. It's more a precautionary measure than anything else, they tell him—every year. The babies in the nursery can't afford to have Harry out of work due to a silly footie injury.

It's so rude. Harry doesn’t appreciate people using his weak spots against him. And it definitely doesn't help that they usually get Louis to break the news to him.

Right before the match, nonetheless. While he’s donning his captain’s armband like some kind of Greek God.

How can Harry be expected to pay attention when his husband’s short barely go halfway down his thighs? When his bum looks practically edible in the elastic white material? Why does the universe hate him so much?

“Harold? Are you listening to me right now?”

Harry snaps into focus when Louis crouches down to be at eye-level with him on the bench. He rests both palms on Harry’s thighs, squeezing them until Harry meets his eyes. “Y’with me, Buttercup?”

And of course the pet name softens Harry up like ice cream on a summer day. “I’m…”

“You’re not still feeling poorly from this morning are you? Do you want me to grab you a bottle of water?”

“No, stop it, I’m fine.” Harry waves Louis’ concerned gaze off. So he woke up this morning nauseous enough to puke his guts out for a good 20 minutes. Who _hasn’t_ gone through that? “It was probably just nerves or something. You know how easily excited I get around sports.”

Louis fixes him with a disbelieving look. “Just try to keep the cheering to a minimum this year, okay? I don’t need you falling off the stands and breaking your hip. We’ve still got that charity gala tomorrow and your parents are going to be there, you knob.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry salutes him. “No cheering, sir.”

_“Harry.”_

“Oh, lighten up, _Tommo_. You act like I’ve never been to one of these games before. Remember two years ago? When they switched me in during the second half of the match and I scored the winning goal? Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about that?”

“Because, sweetheart,” Louis leans over to kiss his cheek in consolation, “that goal was merely an anomaly in your parade of near-death cheering experience. We should be so lucky to have you alive and standing on your own two feet right now, as it is.”

“I’m not _that_ bad.”

“No, you’re not that bad at all,” his husband is quick to agree. And Harry really isn’t, he knows he isn’t. Everyone else just takes this game way too seriously.

Louis moves to sit beside Harry on the bench, right outside of the locker rooms. Everything smells like dirty mops and smelly socks, but Harry has learned to ignore it. Years of willingly cheering Louis on at university footie games have made the rancid smell like a second home for him. (The ridiculous amount of post-game congratulatory sex they had throughout those years probably has something to do with it too.)

Louis intertwines their fingers together and stares at their joined hands, where the insides of their wrists touch and at the sheer size difference between their palms. “I kind of wish you were playing today, you know. I always have more fun when you’re on the pitch.”

“Probably because I look so ridiculous with my hair flying everywhere, I’m assuming.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “I just like your company,” he shrugs. “You’re fun.”

“I’m fun?” Harry asks amusedly, but Louis isn’t looking at him. Instead he rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and nods.

“Yeah. That is why I married you, after all.”

Harry’s skin tingles with pride. He’s so glad that he secretly knew he wouldn’t get to play today and put on one of Louis’ jerseys underneath his track jacket this morning. God, he’s a smart spouse. Lightyears ahead of everyone else.

“I think you’re fun too,” Harry responds a beat too late. “And you always make me laugh.”

“You make me laugh too.” Louis’ voice is soft, earnest. “And you look so nice when you laugh. Your cheeks get all—” He pauses, picking his head up to meet Harry’s greens. He keeps his chin on Harry’s shoulder, their faces right in front of one another’s. He digs a thumb into Harry’s cheek, where one of his craters normally sits. “Dimpled,” he finishes. “You’re so cute with your dimples.”

“Even though I’m almost 30?” Harry asks, Louis’ thumb still pressed against his skin like he’s waiting for Harry to break.

Louis pets at his cheek with affection. “Of course. You’re gonna be even cuter the older you get. You’ll be like a gray haired Rapunzel. The new version, from Tangled. Not the old one.”

“I feel like I should be the one asking you if you’re okay now.”

Louis’ bellowed laughter is cut short when the rest of the team chooses that very moment to come jogging out of the locker rooms. Harry notices Liam and Niall hanging off of each other (most likely drunk already), singing some shoddy made-up chant far too loudly. “ _Aaand_ , that’s my queue,” he says, standing up and pulling Louis with him. “Good luck, Bubbles. Not that you’ll need it.” He kisses Louis’ stubbly cheek and goes to make his way toward the stands.

He’s not even out of earshot when he hears the nurses cackling on Louis’ behalf.

Harry is the _best_ spouse, like, ever.

⚓️

“This is why no one likes cops, you know.”

Louis scoffs, “You sound like a real American right now, Harold.”

Harry snickers at Louis’ response, but doesn’t meet his eyes. He’s far too focused on reapplying a new bandage on his husband’s thigh to make much conversation. He’s trying his best not to explode in anger, but containing himself is proving to be extremely difficult. It doesn’t help that they’re in a crowded pub on a Saturday afternoon, either, but at least it’s loud enough that none of the people who work with them in the hospital can hear the string of curses reading to escape at any given moment.

“I just don’t understand why they feel the need to get so bloody aggressive all the fucking time. _Every_ year they just—”

“Hey.” Louis stops him with a gentle hand on his chin. His other hand wraps around Harry’s wrist, forcing him to stop fussing with the bandage. “It’s just a little scratch, s’all. No harm, no foul. I’ll be healed and ready to go by tomorrow.”

“No harm,” Harry rolls his eyes, mocking Louis, “that’s probably why the guy got sent off right afterward, hmm?”

“Oh, stop doting on him, Hazza,” says Niall as he walks up to their booth with pints in his hands. He slides one over to everyone on at the table before settling down beside Harry, leaning over his shoulder to get another look at Louis’ thigh resting on his lap. “Christ, that fucker really tried to take you out, didn’t he?”

“See!” Harry huffs, throwing his arms in the air.

But Louis brings his arms down for him, laughing. “Don’t encourage him, Niall. He’s been mumbling all kinds of different murder plots under his breath since we got here.”

“You choose your enemies wisely, huh, Harold?” Greg pitches in.

Harry pulls Louis’ shorts down over his bandage once he’s finished up and zips his first-aid bag away, finally placing his attention on their group of friends for the first time since they arrived. He pushes his beer away in protest (definitely not because the scent of it is making his stomach a bit uneasy and he doesn’t feel like risking it after this morning). “If I go down, I hope you guys know that you’re all going down with me.” He’s never needed to fight a cop before, but he probably would for Louis.

When the entire table—sans Louis, ever his loyal spouse—bursts into a unanimous round of laughter and _fuck you_ ’s, Harry decidedly ignores them.

His friends are definitely not worth going to jail for.

⚓️

The banquet hall where the hospital hosts their annual charity gala is the same one that they use every year. The decision never comes as a surprise to anyone. It’s an easy place to get to from the hospital, the waiters are friendly, and they have a great open bar rule. The decor is always simple and chic, the curtains and tablecloths a creme color that melts under the sparkle of the chandeliers. It’s stupidly elegant and schmoozy as hell, but Harry can usually ignore both those parts in favor of staring out the full length windows that show off the beautifully attended-to gardens. It’s getting too cold out for the gardens to be in blossom this time of year, though, so he has nothing to entertain him tonight. He personally always enjoys their spring fundraisers much more. They typically take that one outdoors (at the very same venue), so long as the weather cooperates. And there’s nothing Harry loves more than sipping expensive champagne at noon while shamelessly making sure his arms tan evenly.

Except tonight, Harry isn’t really in the mood for champagne or schmoozy around. It's cold and raining outside, so he can't stare at the gardens. His tux feels too tight against his chest—or maybe Harry is just fat, whatever—like it’s ready to pop off any second now. Harry even had to stop the car on his drive over to hurl out the window, so he can't be positive that there are no remnants of his mini-vomit session on his clothes. Plus, his entire body aches like a bitch. There’s nothing he wants more right now than to get out of this place and go home, bury himself under the covers and get Blossom to purr against his queasy belly.

It also doesn’t help that he’s been up since seven in the morning and he hasn’t seen his husband all day. Harry hates when his and Louis’ schedules are completely different and don’t line up until the day is practically over. It shouldn’t have to be this bloody hard to get a moment’s rest with the person he’s married to, he thinks.

So he’s sulking because he can, and also because he’s not embarrassed enough by it to bother stopping. He doesn’t even care that his mum and Robin are here, either. They’ve been witnessing his indignant sulking his entire life; they aren’t exactly willing to put up with it now that he’s 29 years old. They could care less if Harry is in a mood right now. They’re trying to network their way through mind-numbingly rich shareholders, just as Harry is supposed to be doing.

“You know if you keep pouting like that, you’re gonna get a ton of wrinkles and then everyone really will think you’re old as hell.”

Harry rolls his eyes at Liam, who is sitting next to him and has somehow made it his mission to drive Harry insane today. Harry crosses his arms. “What do you do successfully, Liam? Besides suck the life out of everything and tell people they have shit skin.”

“Aren’t you just a moody little sweetheart,” Liam coos back at him. He pinches Harry’s cheeks and pulls him in for a loud smack against his forehead. “Cheer up, your prince charming texted me like a minute ago saying he was just checking his coat in and he’ll be in here soon.”

“Ugh, don’t get your spit on me,” Harry groans, pushing his friend off. He wipes at his forehead in disgust. “And I’m not pouting about Louis, thank you very much. You don’t know what you’re talking about, thank you very much.”

Liam stares at him with no hint of humor in his eyes whatsoever. “You are literally always pouting about Louis, mate. How don’t you know this about yourself? It’s like Harry Tomlinson 101.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Good, because I’ve had to listen to you talk about the guy all day and quite frankly, I’m getting kind of tired of hearing about him, so—” Liam rises from his seat and grabs Harry by the shoulder. “Have fun moping on your own. I’m gonna go see if Jade wants to knick a bottle of Scotch from the bar. Text me if you and Louis decided to head out early.”

And as cruel and unfunny as Liam may be, he at least leaves Harry off with a tight, wholesome embrace, even going so far as to pat his head and fix his bowtie for him before skipping off.

He has nearly perfect timing as well, because just as he’s pushing his chair into the table, Harry spots Louis walking into the room and his brain just sort of—empties.

He knows exactly what his face looks like every time he stares at Louis from across a room (or across a table; across a pitch; across a surgery theatre). People have explained to him in detail and on more than one occasion that it’s a distressing look to witness; not something they would feel comfortable being on the receiving end of, mostly because of its intensity.

Harry knows that he has his own personal Louis-vision, and he knows that sometimes—especially like right now, when he’s feeling a bit moody and clingy and desperate from Louis’ attention—he has a tendency to forget that there is a world beyond his husband that continues to spin as life goes on accordingly. He’s so focused in on Louis, willing his husband to find him from across the excessively large hall, that he doesn’t even notice the two waiters that pass by him on separate occasions, or Greg dropping off his cufflinks and asking him to keep an eye on them.

It’s not until Louis finds him, makes his way over, and sits down in one of the empty chairs next to him, that Harry comes out of his tunnel vision and breathes properly for the first time all night.

“Hey,” Louis leans close and kisses his cheek, nothing short of professional and appropriate tonight. Harry wasn’t even aware that Louis owned a pink button down, much less a matching tie to go with it. Where has he been hiding this combination these last 11 years?

Regardless, he looks absolutely divine in his tux and Harry can’t stop staring at him.

He must say that part aloud because Louis laughs and responds, cheeks dimpling out, “So do you, Buttercup. You look…”

Louis pauses for a moment. Their eyes lock in on each other; blue on green and Louis on Harry. Every time they see each other properly after a long day apart, it feels like they’re back in college and Harry has accidentally just peed on Louis for the first time. It’s a weird, sort of breath-taking moment, and it happens almost every day.

It’s like coming up for air after being lost under the surface.

“Ethereal,” is the word that Louis finally settles on, and Harry’s heart could explode into stars right that second. “You’re just—you look golden. Come here.” He pulls Harry in by his bowtie and kisses him senseless, licking into his mouth with the fervor of a starved man. And Harry can’t even blame him. He feels like the sun when Louis’ mouth is on him. He feels like he’s glowing.

Galas are stupid, Harry decides. Snogging his husband when he should be networking is not.

⚓️

Over the years, Harry has managed to accomplish a lot of ridiculously impressive things. When he was four he learned how to ride a two-wheeler entirely on his own, completely bypassing the training wheel process. At 12, he won a school-wide Geography Bee, mostly by luck (he’s still not really sure how he knew the capital of Eritrea by heart) and made his way up to second place at the national level—without studying. By his 20s he had graduated at the top of his class in university and completed his degree with full honors and an engagement ring on his hand by the morning of commencement. He’s been to a dozens of countries over the years and worked with several organizations and charities near and dear to his heart. He’s even renewed his wedding vows, and he’s not even 30 yet.

Harry has done a lot in the time that he’s been given, but for him, his favorite accomplishment will always be the playroom in the peds wing of the hospital. Any free time he has outside of his surgeries and meetings and mentoring, he spends in that small room, hanging out with the younger patients. They built it a few years ago when he was just first starting out, after he’d spent weeks upon endless weeks pestering some fellows and crying whenever necessary, just to tug on their heart strings further. (It had to be done. Harry regrets nothing.) It’s a good escape from the chaos of the rest of the hospital, but also from the reminder that at the end of the day, they’re still in a hospital. That simple fact of the matter sucks as it is.

 _A lot_.

Especially for children who are already trying to cope with illnesses.

The worst part is that a lot of his patients are too young to know the intricacies of their illnesses, or what it really means for them in the long run. They’re so used to seeing Harry’s face in and out of their various procedures that they stop asking him serious questions. They let their parents do all the thinking and talking while they busy themselves with distractions and snacks. They come to the playroom, they color, and they ask if they can braid Harry’s hair, because that’s become their norm.

It’s the best that Harry can offer them, for now.

He likes the playroom because it doesn’t look like any other part of the hospital. The walls are brightly colored and there are toys everywhere. Everything from Monster Trucks to play-dough to a beginners’ painting set can be found. The room is large enough that the kids who want to sit down and read Harry Potter books can; those who want to stare at the small aquarium and talk to the fishies can; those who want to sprawl out on the magic carpet and tell ghost stories can. It’s loud at almost all times of the day, but it’s the kind of loudness that Harry loves—filled with laughter and easy, innocent conversation. Just because they’re in the hospital, Harry doesn’t see why they shouldn’t be able to have fun and make friends.

And that’s precisely why on Fridays, Harry makes sure to schedule himself lighter work loads solely for the purpose of having more time with the kids. It makes for busier week days, but he doesn’t mind it as much. It’s a good start to weekend, and it reminds him that he doesn’t always have to be the bearer of bad news.

This Friday, Harry finds himself sandwiched between Karen and Raj, each of them with one of his hands in their laps. Karen is (attempting to) paint his nails a bright red while Raj has gone in favor of a sunny yellow. It’ll get him strange looks from the rest of the doctors, no doubt, but that’s nothing new.

“Harry?” Karen asks in a small voice. She chews down on her bottom lip as she focuses on staying inside his nails, the tip of her tongue poking out just barely. It took him almost a month to get her to refer to him as simply _Harry_ and not _Mister Harry_ or _Doctor Tomlinson_ , the way her parents do. All the kids know by know that they’re allowed to and encouraged to call him by just his first name. He still hates all the formalities of medicine.

“Yes, Miss Karen?”

“When you have your own babies, will you bring them to play with us too?”

That’s—

A valid question. Because the thing is, Louis spends just as much time in here as Harry does. He reads them books, poses as a model for their drawings, even brings them flowers for no occassion. They see Harry and Louis both hanging around and taking care of babies, so it should be no surprise that they’re curious about where the Tomlinson’s own lot are. All of the kids know that he’s Harry’s husband—whether or not they understand what that means is a separate matter—and they’re quite fond of him as well.

Sometimes (almost all of the time) they even pick Louis over him for charades. It’s kind of the worst, actually, like facing mutiny in his own kingdom. Harry has created monsters.

“Of course I will,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Do you like babies, Karen?”

She nods her head eagerly, short brown hair just barely brushing her shoulders. “They’re a lot of fun, but sometimes they poo too much.”

Raj agrees with her. “My little brother Nabil is always pooing,” he adds, never looking up from his work. “I don’t like that. He’s so smelly.”

Harry tries his very best not to laugh, because he doesn’t want to screw up their hard work, but it proves to be a true test of his self-control. He bites at the insides of his cheeks for a good 30 seconds until he’s calmed down and able to speak in a clear voice. “What do you guys like about babies, then?”

“They’re funny,” Karen says. “And I like the way their heads smell. They make lots of funny noises too.”

“And they make me feel like I’m funny,” Raj hums. Harry knows that feeling. That’s why he keeps Louis around, after all. “How come you don’t have any babies of your own, Harry? Don’t you like them a lot?”

Harry’s not really sure how to tell ten year olds that you’ve been having troubling conceiving for two years now, and not for a lack of trying. (Someone should really write a book on that.) He’s at least learned during his numerous explanations to others that there’s no need for him to be embarrassed by the journey of it all. Still, it makes a red warmth creep up his neck every time the question of _when when when_ comes up, like an incessant buzzing.

He’s never before been asked about it by a ten year old patient of his, though.

Harry wracks his brain for an answer and somehow the first thing that comes to his mind is also the stupidest answer that comes to mind.

“Well, they were all out of babies when we went to the shops last week, so Louis and I are waiting for them to restock their supply before we can get ours.”

Karen and Raj both stop working, the brushes in their hands held up in mid-air. Harry takes note of the unamused look mirrored on their faces. The two of them really should spend less time together. They’re becoming weirdly in sync.

“What?” he asks, faux confused.

“Kids don’t come from _stores_ , Harry,” Karen informs him, like it’s the most absurd thing she’s ever heard in all her ten years of living. She manages to sound only slightly condescending, and even that is an accomplishment for her. “You can’t _buy_ a baby.”

“I can’t?” Harry pretends like he’s hearing this for the first time; the corners of his lips turning downward. He is literally missing a symposium on the hospital’s new 3D printer to be here right now, playing dumb with children. If only he regretted it.

“ _Duh_.”

“Then where _can_ I get baby? I had all this money saved up and everything!”

“D’you want Nabil?” Raj offers, tugging on Harry’s sleeve to get his attention. “Please, please please. You don’t even have to pay for him, I promise. You can have him for free!”

Harry’s act crumbles just slightly. “I don’t think that would be very fair to your parents, love. They’d probably be a bit cross with both if us if you gave him to me. And for free, too. Babies are expensive!”

Raj stares at him for a moment, thinking quietly to himself. Harry and Karen both watch him, waiting, until he finally sighs in defeat and agrees. “I’ll see what I can do for you. We can talk about it later.”

“No, sweetie—it’s fine,” Harry bursts into laughter, his nails now dry, mismatched, and messy. (Just the way he likes it.) He really doesn’t want to have to explain to Raj’s parents the next time he sees them why Raj is auctioning off his younger sibling. “You can keep Nabil, I promise, it’s fine. Louis and I can find a baby all on our own. No need to give up any of your family members, okay?” He waits for Raj to nod his head in understanding before ruffling his hair affectionately. “Good lad. You should be grateful to have a little brother as cute as Nabil.”

“Do you have a baby inside you right now then?”

Karen’s question catches Harry off guard, even more than Raj’s initial one. He turns to her, fish-mouthing.

“I don’t know what you—”

“My auntie Linda told me that babies are made in people’s tummies and _not_ in stores,” she explains, once again reminding Harry with a pointed look that she is wise beyond her years. But then she pokes Harry in the stomach and points out curiously, “Yours looks bigger now. Are you having a baby?”

Which. No. That’s a bit rude, actually, to go around poking at people’s chub and calling them out. Still, Harry _has_ noticed that his middle has gone a bit soft these last few weeks, just the smallest bit round, but that goes without saying. It’s only enough that Harry has noticed little rolls when he sits down. He’d mostly shrugged it off and blamed it on being too swamped at the hospital to have time to work out, but—if a kid can tell that he’s put on weight, then surely everyone else has too?

His coworkers… His neighbors… _His husband._

Harry’s cheeks were pink from laughing earlier, but now they’re just beet red. Ironically enough, they match perfectly with the freshly painted nails on his left hand.

“Karen, you’re not supposed to tell someone they’re fat to their face, you dummy.”

And just like that, Harry goes from his self-conscious little bubble and back to being the only adult in the room. He has just enough energy and wit remaining in him to break up any tension between and Raj, successfully managing to prevent a fight from breaking out.

(Again.) (He doesn’t know how those two can simultaneously be glued to the hip and still want to wrestle the life out of each other at every hour of the day.)

When he does leave an hour later, Karen comes up to him and apologizes—Raj standing behind her authoritatively—for her behavior. Harry accepts her apology (because she’s ten and sweet and Harry is _not_ a monster, despite what Niall says) and crouches to her height so that they can aggressively hug it out.

As they part, Karen still tells him that she hopes he is having a baby, for all it counts, and that she thinks Harry looks cute with some weight on him.

She even suggests they name the baby Karen.

⚓️

Harry spends the rest of the day hyper-conscious of every little inch of his body. He searches for his reflection in every shiny surface available, picking at his skin and tugging at his belt, which suddenly feels two sizes too small. His hair does look a bit shinier and his skin tanner, despite the October chill, but his thighs also feel four hundred pounds heavier and his hips sixty centimeters wider. He feels like a giant in every room that he walks into, like every pair of eyes is glued to him judgmentally, picking out all of his flaws and snickering in disgust.

Harry’s never been self-conscious of his body before. He’s never had a reason to, in all fairness. He’s always had a naturally steady metabolism and outside of his chubby adolescent years, once he grew fully into his body, there was never much concern about having to keep track of his weight or slimming his figure down. Even though he doesn’t get to exercise as regularly anymore, he still partakes in rather rigorous bedroom activities, so he thinks getting his brains fucked out should definitely count as a good alternative to more traditional cardio workouts.

Karen’s words still stick with him for the rest of his work day and even after he gets home, showers, feeds Blossom, and climbs into bed. He’s kind of grateful that Louis won’t be back from the symposium until early tomorrow morning, because he doesn’t feel like vocalizing his insecurities right now. He’s only just adjusting to accepting them. (Maybe he’d spent 20 minutes in front of the mirror after his shower poking at his hips and thighs and bum, but that’s just for him to know.) He’s still trying to figure out at what point he let himself go when he falls asleep, naked and bloated and alone in bed.

⚓️

He wakes up the next morning not to the sound of his alarm or Blossom purring in his ear or even Louis crawling into bed with him. Instead, he is jolted out of bed by his stomach demanding that he run straight to the toilet and hurl his guts out.

Which is always a nice way to start the morning.

It’s the fourth time this has happened in the last two weeks. Harry would be more worried if he could think straight, or hear his thoughts over the sound of his dinner coming back up, but he can’t, so.

It’s disgusting—Harry hates nothing more than he hates vomiting—but it’s made even worse by the fact that he’s still naked. He’s pretty sure he’s getting little chunks in his hair, too.

He’s so spent clinging onto the toilet that he doesn’t hear the sound of a car parking in the driveway or the front door being opened. He misses the footsteps on the stairs and the door of the ensuite opening up. It isn’t until Louis is crawled next to him, pulling his hair back for him and holding him in his arms that Harry realizes he’s got company.

“Hey,” he whispers groggily, his throat burning, dry. His mouth feels tacky and horrid, and it hurts to speak. “How was your trip?”

Louis pets at his chest with gentle hands, moving them in small, soothing circles. Harry expects to be told off for ignoring the real issue at hand, but he’s kind of relieved when Louis just kisses his temple and answers his question.

“It was okay,” he says, voice small. “Jade spent the entire day trying to convince everyone to let her print a mold of Liam’s penis. Would’ve been funnier if you were there.”

Harry can hear the worry in his voice. He inches away from the toilet, flushing it once more and closing the lid before fitting himself in between Louis’ legs. He settles against the warm embrace of Louis’ chest, his head drooping to the side until it rests on Louis’ shoulder. Harry closes his eyes and tightens Louis’ arms around his middle, placing his own on top of them. He stares at the matching gold bands on their hands lined up next to one another. “It’s nice to have you back.”

“I was only gone for a day.”

“Still.”

A moment of silence passes between them. If Harry tries hard enough, he can hear Blossom tip-toeing in the hallway, probably wondering where his dads are. His body feels cold now that his stomach is empty and his muscles tired. He tries to burrow a little deeper against Louis; steal some of his warmth .

“How’s your stomach now?”

“Better,” he answers. “Feel tired, though.”

“You wanna shower or get some food in you first? Do you think your stomach can handle some fruit? Or eggs? Or do you want to go back to bed?”

It’s not often that Louis nervous blabbers like this. Harry finds it hopelessly endearing.

“Depends,” he says. “Which one of those activities will you join me in?”

Louis’ laughter is soft and light against his ear. “All of them,” he says simply. “Take your pick, I’m yours.”

Harry’s cramped up thighs want him to get back into bed. His stomach wants him to devour a spinach and bell pepper omelet. His dick mostly just wants him to get bent over the closest flat surface available.

It’s a dilemma. Harry has no solution for it.

“I don’t know. You can decide, I trust your judgment.” He turns his face into the crook of Louis’ neck and noses against the short hairs that dust the edge of his jaw. “Whatever gets me more time with you.”

“You know,” Louis says, “this would actually be a really romantic moment in the story of our lives if we weren’t sat next to a toilet.”

Harry laces their hands together and sighs. Louis’ right, but. “All out best moments happen next to toilets. Think of this as a homage.”

“What? Are you gonna piss on me again, just for old time’s sake?”

“Why else do you think I’m still naked?”

Harry wiggles his bum, the little that he can, against Louis’ crotch. He means to be coy and seductive, but it comes off as ridiculously silly instead.

The two of them break out into laughter. Louis squeezes him in closer and laughs warmly into his neck. The sound of it is infectious, beautiful. Harry can’t stop once they start, even though he knows the conversation wasn’t all that funny to begin with or anything.

Louis’ presence makes his stomach feel better faster than any medicine.

⚓️

They’re supposed to be at work. They should have been on the road 15 minutes ago, dressed and caffeined up with their phones fully charged.

But they’re not.

Harry is spread out on the bed—still naked, hours later—staring up at the ceiling. Louis is pressed against his side, his head resting against the curve of his ribs as he draws small designs into Harry’s damp skin with his fingertips. It tickles, a little, but it also feels strangely arousing and intimate. No one has ever touched him the way that Louis does.

No one’s ever been as close to his body as Louis always is.

That’s why when Louis leaves a trail of kisses along the swell of his ribs, Harry doesn’t think about all of yesterday’s doubts. He closes his eyes and succumbs to the gentle, wet press of Louis’ lips against his skin, still a bit damp from being fucked in the shower and eaten out afterward. He lets Louis’ mouth work its way down the center of his torso and nuzzle against his hips. His toes curl when Louis bites down on his hipbone, immediately laving his tongue over it and relieving the pressure. Louis mouth feels like a reward, like a blessing, adorning his body with tender reminders of his love; his adoration.

Harry loses track of time as his flushed skin turns from pink to red and the bruises begin to blossom to the surface. He doesn’t open his eyes until he feels Louis rise and lay on top of him, hovering above just a centimeter or two away. Louis doesn’t say anything, but the soft exhales of his breath melt against Harry’s mouth, his husband waiting on him.

“Harry?”

“Mmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Harry blinks his lashes open to find Louis staring down at him. His brows are pinched together in focus, lips in a thin line. The muscles in his shoulders and arms look delicious where they’re propping Louis up on either side of Harry’s head, but he doesn’t let them distract him, no.

He needs to focus.

Louis looks concerned. Harry can almost feel his heart beating against his own; faster than it normally is. He is convinced that years of falling asleep with Louis’ chest pressed against his back have made him finely attuned to every little beat of his husband’s heart.

Louis never asks permission for questions. Louis is never hesitant, nor distant with him.

Harry cups Louis’ face in his hands, bringing their mouths together for a closed-lip, reassuring kiss. “Of course you can ask me anything,” he whispers. He brushes back strands of Louis’ fringe from his face, his fingertips ghosting over every detail it can reach, mesmerized. “What’s wrong?”

The blue in Louis’ eye have gone dark. His gaze is steady, unwavering. Harry’s heart joins Louis’ in its racing.

“When’s the last time you took one of those pregnancy tests?”

“About… Almost three weeks ago, maybe. Why? You don’t think—”

It doesn’t feel possible. It’s unrealistic. They’ve gone through this a hundred times before in the last few years, and it’s never ended well for them. Harry doesn’t have the heart to get his hopes up again. That’s why he stopped taking the tests in the first place. That’s why they have the appointment with Dr. Corden coming up. That’s why they’re turning to IVF.

“ _Baby_ ,” Louis whispers. It takes Harry a second to remember that he’s referring to him, and not the possible human inside of him. Louis kisses his palms. His eyes look like Christmas lights, like the bright, baby blues from their Christmas tree two years ago. Harry’s heart is ready to burst. “I think maybe we should head to the hospital.”

⚓️

The first time that Harry had imagined himself having kids, he was eight. He was in primary school and there was a boy in his class called Eric Milokavic. Eric’s mum was the school nurse and one day, when Harry had fallen off the swings in the playground, he got sent to Eric’s mum. She was pregnant at the time and ready to pop, yet her skin was glowing and she had most subtle little wobble to her walk. Harry remembers thinking that she looked like a penguin. He also remembers the smile on her face being wide, her teeth shiny and nails a deep red color.

She took care of the cuts on Harry’s elbows and knees, too. She even let him touch her belly, talking to him like an adult instead of a child the entire time. It was the first time that Harry had felt a baby kick against his hand, and it was the first time he’d found himself fascinated by the idea of carrying a human inside of himself.

Harry’s going to be 30 soon, but not much has changed. His hair is quite a bit longer now and his jeans are definitely tighter. He’s learned to drive since then, and he doesn’t need his mum’s permission to go on the internet anymore. (Thank God for that.)

He’s thinking about Eric and his mum as he drives toward Holmes Chapel, his grip around the steering wheel vice-like. White knuckled and queasy, he thinks about Eric’s little sister. The Milokovic family had named her Liliya—after one of the grandparents. Harry remembers Eric’s mum asking him what he thought about the name when he went in to see her—but a week after she was born Eric stopped coming to school. No one knew why for the longest time. It wasn’t until a few months later that Harry found out Liliya was born with a heart defect and the Milokavics had to move a few towns over so that she could be taken care of at a better hospital.

Harry wasn’t supposed to find out about that. He was being nosy and overheard his mum talking about it to one of their neighbors one day. He didn’t know what a _heart defect_ meant at that time, but he knew enough to know that it wasn’t good. How could there be anything good about having to practically move your family into a hospital?

Harry doesn’t even know where Eric or Liliya or the rest of the Milokavic family is now. Is Liliya alive? Just thinking about the possibility that she isn’t—knowing what he knows now, after years of witnessing what he has—makes Harry sick to his stomach. He probably should have let Louis drive.

Maybe it’s just another round of morning sickness.

 _Fuck_. Are he even supposed to still be getting morning sickness when he’s four and a half months pregnant? He can’t remember reading when this is supposed to stop in his baby books. Why can’t he remember that? He’s a fucking pediatric specialist, he should _know_ this.

“Hazza?” Louis’ voice bursts his bubble. Harry blinks his eyes. It feels like he’s looking at the motorway properly for the first time in hours. From the corner of his eye he can see Louis shifting around in his seat, waking up from his nap. “Hey, you okay?” His hand comes to rest on  Harry’s thigh, gentle and light so as to not startle him.

Harry squeezes the steering wheel tighter. It feels like his heart is beating inside of his throat and he wants it to stop. He kind of wants to cry, too, but can’t. He’s stuck in a limbo of emotion, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to escape. “I think I might be having another mood swing,” he answers honestly, “so if I start crying, please don’t get worried. It’s just hormonal stuff, I swear.”

“ _Harry_ ,” coos Louis. He squeezes Harry’s thigh before moving his hand up to cup the back of his neck. “Oh, love, I shouldn’t have let you drive like this. How far away are we? Do you think you’ll be okay until we get to your mum’s? We can pull over at the next rest stop if you need to, baby.”

But Harry shakes his head, despite the tears pooling up in his eyes. He’ll be fine as long as he can still see properly, and right now that’s not a problem yet. He’s fine. Everything is fine. “Almost 20 minutes. I’m okay, I’m fine.”

“Harry.”

“No,” he sniffles, wiping his nose against his shoulder, “I promise, I’m great. I’m doing great.”

He’s always been a really great liar. Why didn’t he consider going into law instead?

“Should I ask what got you in this state or would that make it worse?”

“Probably make it worse.” It’s not like Harry knows where he would even start. He’s told Louis about Liliya Milokavic before and how it led him down the path he’s on right now, but he’s never told him about her mum or the fact that he thinks about her, still, just randomly sometimes. “Can you play with my hair, please? That would make me feel a lot better.”

“Are you sure? That’s all you need?”

Harry can’t meet his eyes, but the moment that he nods, he feels Louis’ fingers against the nape of his neck, lightly scratching at where his hair begins. His fingers move slowly, working their way upward until he reaches the elastic band holding Harry’s hair in a messy bun. He pulls at it carefully so it slides off and all of Harry’s locks come tumbling down past his shoulders. It’s still a bit wet and wavy from his shower this morning, but it feels nice when Louis works his fingers through it.

Harry doesn’t keep track of how much time passes before Louis speaks again.

“You know, the girls are gonna be so angry that we kept this a secret from them all this time.”

“Kept what a secret?” he asks.

Louis motions toward the very noticeable bump that is now Harry’s belly. Sometimes Harry forgets how big he is currently and it catches him off guard. They haven’t _technically_ told anyone at the hospital either, but it’s not like they don’t know. Their colleagues can probably smell the pregnant radiating off of Harry. (Pregnancy, he’s learned, smells mostly like vomit, cocoa butter, and salt and vinegar crisps. It’s not all that great a combination.)

The problem is that Harry has spent the good majority of his life waiting for this moment and now that he’s here he just… He needs to figure out how to reach everyone’s expectations. His own expectations, too. _Everyone_ who has ever known him has known how long he’s been waiting for this. So, of course, he needs to do everything right. He needs to go at his own pace.

Obviously, he wormed Louis into promising not to tell anyone about the news just yet.

But it’s not going very well anyway. Louis accidentally blabbered to their mailman the other day and Steve came running into the kitchen to hug Harry. Harry is amazed that they’ve even managed to survive the last month of secrecy as it is.

“They’re going to be too excited to finally be aunts to kill us,” Harry tries to reason. The change in subject—to Lottie and Gemma possibly threatening his life—at least serves as a nice distraction from crying. He’s kind of over that whole episode now, can barely remember why he was so upset to begin with.

“Yeah, but our mums probably won’t care anyway. I hope you’ve prepared yourself for tonight. I wouldn’t put it past them to kick us to the dog shed when dinner comes around.”

“Lou, my mum doesn’t have a dog.”

“Exactly,” Louis muses, like he’s making even the smallest bit of sense right now. “I shouldn’t still be scared of my mum at this age, should I? I feel like that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

“Because we’re so good at doing things as they’re _supposed_ to be done, right?”

“We’ve been doing a pretty okay job so far, I think. Plus you’ve always been a scaredy cat. That’s not really a surprise there.”

Luckily, Harry is too busy exiting off of the motorway to notice the disbelieving look on Louis’ face. “ _Excuse_ me? _I’m_ the scaredy cat?”

The hand in his hair stops, but Harry swears he hears a small chuckle out of his husband. “Oh, come off it, Lou. Of course you’re the scaredy cat out of the two of us. I still have to hold your hand when you get your shots. Who d’you think you’re fooling here?”

Harry knows things about Louis that would shock the rest of the world. Louis is lucky to be married to someone as loyal and sneaky as Harry; someone who can take all of Louis’ embarrassing secrets to the grave.

“Whatever. You’re wrong, but whatever,” Louis pretends to harrumph. “Are we there yet? I’m getting tired of your company.”

“Still can’t lie for your life, either.”

“Just get to your mum’s before I jump out of this car.”

“You wouldn’t,” Harry says as he makes a left turn into the right neighborhood. “You’re also afraid of breaking your bones, remember?”

He probably deserves it when Louis pinches his cheek rather roughly. “Pesky little thing you’ve become.”

Harry doesn’t hear him over the sound of his own laughter.

⚓️

“I’m scared,” Harry whispers, heart in his throat. “I can’t do this, Louis, please. Let’s just go back. They probably didn’t even notice us drive in yet, we still have some time.”

They’re walking up to Harry’s mum’s (very crowded) driveway, hand-in-hand. It’s cold as fuck outside, but Harry’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. The sun has just set and the street lights are only just beginning to flicker on in the quiet, gated community.

Harry’s never been this nervous before in his life. Even his first solo surgery was less terrifying than this. Why did he think it would be a good idea to keep his pregnancy from both their families?

Maybe if he’s lucky no one will notice his bump. They’ll just assume he’s put on weight, like Karen did all those weeks ago.

Karen would know what to do right now, if she were here. Karen always knows what to do. Karen probably would’ve smacked him across the head for having such a stupid idea to begin with.

Where is Karen when Harry needs her?

“Babe, if you don’t steady your breathing right now, I think all three of us are going to be in quite the pickle.”

_Three of us._

Harry almost forgot how good that sounds.

“Hey. Come here.” Louis tugs on his hand until they come to a stop. He turns them around to face each other, just steps away from the front door. It’s a little too dark to see all the details of his face clearly, but even the little that he can see creates a spring awakening in his veins.“Everything’s going to be fine,” Louis promises, his pink, chapped lips moving slowly in the cold. It matches the beanie on his head—pink, because they found out this morning that they’re having a girl and that’s just.

Harry’s going to be a dad. To a _little girl_. Five months from now he’ll be holding her in his arms, and she’ll be so lovely and small.

They’re going to have a spring baby and she’s probably going to have Louis’ eyes. What a blessing that would be. Harry crosses his fingers on the hand inside his pocket, hoping that she does. He’ll love her either way—blue or green or even brown eyes, it doesn’t matter—but he’d really like them to be blue, he thinks.

“I don’t think I’m scared anymore,” he whispers suddenly.

Louis presses their chapped mouths together. Harry can feel the smile tugging on his lips as he melts into Louis’ touch. Louis’ hands cup the back of his neck and jaw as Harry takes a step closer and—his belly bumps into Louis’.

He has to pull away when a giggle erupts out of him.

“God,” Louis breathes out a laugh. “We’re going to have to get used to that, aren’t we?”

One of his gloved hands trails from Harry’s neck and slides down his chest. It stops, just over the curve of Harry’s bump. Louis’ hands aren’t necessary small—they’re just smaller than Harry’s, really, and Harry doesn’t let him forget that very often—but there’s something about the way they look stretched over Harry’s body that makes him a little faint. Overwhelmed.

It’s so much better than every time he’d imagined it.

“Are you ready to go in now?” asks Louis. Both of his hands are now pressed against the swell of Harry’s middle, they two of them equally unable to look away from the sight of it.

“I think so, yeah. Just give me another second. I want to remember this.”

Harry pulls his phone out from his pocket and opens the camera up, ignoring the two missed called from Robin and Fizzy. He places his left hand on top of Louis’ and carefully angles the shot so that when he goes to take the photo, it is their hands, together; their feet, together; their baby, in the middle.

“Oh, my mum’s going to lose it when she sees that,” Louis snickers.

⚓️

And she does.

Lose it, that is. In Jay’s defense, everyone else also loses it pretty quickly too, so.

It starts with Lottie, who opens the front door for them. For a moment Harry thinks—no, it’s fine, he’s probably not that noticeable—but then they step inside the house and Louis helps him take his coat off and Lottie just.

She screams bloody murder. For the whole entire house (and a few neighbors, surely) to hear.

That’s precisely when both sets of twins come bounding down the stairs. As soon as they spot Harry, Louis, and Bump in the foyer with Lottie they stop.

It doesn’t take much longer for Robin and Jay and Anne and Dan to show up too. Gemma, Lottie’s husband Tom, and Fizzy come trailing after them just a moment later.

“Holy f—”

“Felicite!” Johannah screeches, before the word can come out of her daughter’s mouth.

 _“Mum!”_ Fizzy screeches right back, equally as loud and wide-eyed. She throws an index finger at Harry’s direction and waves a hand. It’s not necessarily accusing, surprisingly enough. “Harry’s the one who’s _pregnant_.”

Maybe Louis notices the way that Harry’s hands start shaking because he moves to stand right next to him, resting a palm to the small of his back and kissing his shoulder.

No one in the room says a word. Harry’s not positive they’re even breathing anymore. He realizes belatedly that they haven’t said their hellos to anyone either. Talk about making an entrance.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done, Felicite.” Jay nudges Fizzy out of the way, smacking her lightly across the back of her head while clicking her tongue. “You’ve scared my poor boy off.”

Behind her, Fizzy makes a disgruntled noise as she rubs her head.

Harry’s eyes widen comically when Jay makes her way toward him and stops right in front of him and Louis, a gobsmacked Lottie still standing just to the side of her. “Hi, love,” she whispers in what sounds like a voice that’s ready to break. Up close, Harry can see the hazel of her light eyes and how they’re pooling up rather quickly.

She doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even spare a glance at Harry’s belly before pulling him away from Louis and into her arms. She wraps him up a warm embrace, arms coming around his shoulders and one of her hands cupping the back of his head. He buries his face in the crook of her neck where she smells like a combination of vanilla, thyme, and the Prada perfume he bought her last year. It smells comforting; smells like home—an different version of it that he’s building in his head over the years.

When they separate, there are tears in Harry’s eyes to match his mother-in-law’s. Her arm moves to circle around his waist and she doesn’t let him go, simply moves to his side. “Alright, well.” She turns to face the entirety of their family, still jam-packed into the foyer with their chins hovering above the floor and eyes glossy. “How about we try that again, shall we?” Jay turns to Fizzy, who is now hiding behind Tom, with a stern look. “And it’s still Christmas Eve, lest we forget, so let’s try and keep things appropriate this time around, hmm? Can we all agree to that?”

Harry can tell that Fiz is rolling her eyes, even though he can’t see her. He notices Louis, a few feet away, lost amongst the crowd of his own family. He must have found his way to Anne’s side at some point because he’s standing there now, the two of them with their arms around one another and resting their heads on each other’s shoulders.

A smile blossoms onto his face when he catches Louis’ eyes and nods his head.

 _Let’s try it again_.

⚓️

Everything proves to be much easier once everyone has stuffed their faces in and finished off a couple of bottles of wine. It’s the best ice breaker Harry could have asked for—his mums are much more tolerable when they’re drunk and crying than when they’re just sobbing sober. He’s not sure why, but at least when they’re intoxicated it makes Harry giggle. Otherwise seeing them cry is too painful and almost always results in him joining in on the waterworks.

And he definitely doesn’t need any more of that.

It’s such a relief, finally, to be able to speak openly about his pregnancy to the people closest to him. Harry feels lighter than he has in weeks, the dimpled grin on his face never missing a beat as he sits around his family; the center of attention.

The twins want to hear every little detail about what Harry and Louis have in store for the future Tomlinson member. They ask about names and nicknames and who’ll get to babysit of the weekend, while Gemma, Lottie, and Fizzy fight over godparent rights. It’s so many voices, constantly overlapping one another, that Harry would feel overwhelmed if he didn’t have years of experience with this chaotic environment.

At one point, after the table has been cleaned off and the dishes washed, everyone gathers around in the living room, fitting themselves all over the couches and the floor. The Christmas tree in the corner stands tall, almost overwhelming, and decorated to the brim. It’s themed blue and green this year. (Harry swears his mum is psychic, or at the very least, his biggest fan. She is an angel.) There’s a stocking for everyone in the room hanging on wall above the fireplace. Harry sits down on the loveseat, Louis squeezed in there behind him, and notices that it’s started snowing outside.

Because what would Christmas be without the snowfall.

They bring out a massive cake for Louis birthday and manage to devour the thing in its entirety despite everyone’s trousers moments away from popping off. It’s chocolate, so Harry has no complaints. He take turns with Louis feeding each other in between small bouts of laughter, lost somewhere in their own bubble. It’s disgustingly cliche and stupid, but it’s everything Harry has wanted for so long. He thinks he should be allowed to indulge himself in the silly things.

And anyway, Louis keeps an arm around his waist the whole night, the comfort of his palm never once leaves its place with Bump, so Harry can’t ask for much more. That’s all he’d really wanted out of Christmas this year.

Harry feels warm. Harry feels loved. He can feel his baby inside of him share the sentiment.

“Sorry I couldn’t beat Doris’ gift,” Harry whispers to Louis in the middle of Charades some time later, when everyone is too distracted by Gemma and Tom screaming at each other about a bad call to pay attention to them. He leans back until he can feel Louis’ chest against his back and tilts his head up, meeting his husband’s eyes. They’re still glowing, even all these hours later. “I didn’t know you were so into friendship bracelets.”

Louis lifts his left arm up and shakes his wrists in front of them. Harry giggles into his neck. “It’s like you know nothing about me, Harold. I’m hurt.”

“I really thought I had it in the bag with that Bubbles jumper, I swear. I even ordered a matching Buttercup one for me, but I left that at home. I’ve been dying to wear it for weeks now.”

He’d bought it as a joke, initially, but then the pet names caught on, and Harry fell asleep in it one night whilst Louis was away on work and he’d woken up a changed man. Harry can’t wait to see how cute Louis will look in it, the baby blue color of it a perfect match to his eyes.

Although he probably should have bought a bigger size for himself. He doubts he’ll be able to fit in it now, at least for the next few months.

“You didn’t bring it with you?”

“Should’ve, but I didn’t. I had a feeling Gemma would have a field day with the insults.”

“Still feisty as ever, isn’t she?” Louis nudges to where Gemma is now standing with Ernest by her side, the two of them waving their hands aggressively as they tear down Tom and Robin. “I would’ve defended you, for what it’s worth. I love your jumpers. You always look so cute in them.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, of course. Always.”

“Aw, thanks, mate.” Harry kisses the back of Louis’ hand, giggling. “I don’t personally think you could handle yourself against Gems, but it’s so sweet that you would’ve tried for me. I knew I married you for a reason.”

Louis pinches his bum in retaliation and Harry bursts into laughter.

The chaos that is their families together at the holidays is stupidly hilarious, as it always is. The more that Harry watches them—re-telling Christmas stories from previous years and shoving cake into each other’s mouths—the more tired he gets himself. Just staring at all the clutter and action feels like a workout in itself. He hasn’t moved from his spot in between Louis’ legs since he settled there hours ago, but he’s also four and a half months pregnant now, so he feels like he should be exempt from any and all physical family activities. Besides,  he’s completely worn out from their appointment this morning and the drive over and all the dramatics that has ensued since. He’s also pretty sure he’s, like, 5% Harry, 20% Baby, and 75% birthday cake.

“Are you sleepy?” Louis slides a palm under his jumper and caresses the small of his back. His voice is quiet, soothing. It lulls Harry’s eyes shut, though he knows he shouldn’t. He should wait until he gets to the bed.

“Mmm,” he hums. His body goes boneless in Louis’ arms, unmoving. He’s less than two seconds away from passing out for the rest week when he hears Louis’ bubbly, affectionate laughter in his ear.

“God, you’re ridiculous. Let’s get you up, Buttercup. Come on, up we go.”

He doesn’t know how he makes it off the loveseat and out of the living room, but he doesn’t doubt Louis had broken a sweat dealing with his limp and useless body. He barely even registers his mum kissing his forehead and guiding Louis to one of the guestrooms. All he knows is that at some point he ends up on a bed in his pajamas, Louis pressed against his back, and that’s good enough for him.

He falls asleep with his husband’s arm around his waist. It’s the best sleep he’s had in a long time.

⚓️

“I told you he wasn’t fat, Karen. You’re so rude.”

Harry watches as Karen throws one of her crayons right at Raj’s face. Luckily there isn’t much force behind it and the orange crayon sort of just plops against Raj’s shoulder before rolling onto the floor.

“What did we say about throwing things, Miss Karen?” Harry leans over his chair to pick the crayon up and place it back in the bin. “You promised me if I let you color again you were going to behave yourself.”

“But I never called you _fat_!” Karen whimpers, throwing her arms in the air. She looks so put out, her brown eyes big and glassy. Her bottom lip wobbles as she says, defensively, “I just said your tummy was squishy, that’s all! I wasn’t being rude, Harry, I promise!”

Harry can’t help but chuckle under his breath. He pets Karen’s head, lightly brushing wayward strands of hair from her face. “I know you didn’t mean to be rude, love. You’re just very perceptive, that’s all. If it weren’t for you I probably wouldn’t have realized I was pregnant until Little Bee was ready to go.” He squeezes her shoulder affectionately, careful to not tug on one of her IVs. “I _should_ be thanking you.”

“That sounds fake, but okay,” Raj mumbles to himself. He rolls his eyes as he continues coloring his dragon piece.

And Harry will take what he gets. If he’s learned anything from years of working with kids it’s that picking and choosing your battles is _crucial_. He probably would’ve lost his mind had he not realized that as early on as he had.

“Are you excited to be a dad, Harry?” asks Karen after a lull in their conversation.

The rest of the playroom is almost empty at the moment, surprisingly. The only other kids in there are a pair of twins, Max and Ellie, and they’re both taking a nap by the fish. Even though it’s late in February and winter is coming to its end, it’s still the time of year where the flu spreads easily and a lot of the kids don’t have the energy or privilege of leaving their rooms.

Harry hates the winter. Everything feels listless and exhausting, and his kids look miserable for months on end.

Except for Karen and Raj, who _must_ be sneaking something in their pudding because Harry swears they never run out of energy. He really should stop spending so much of his time with 10 year olds.

He realizes belatedly that Karen had asked him a question.

“I’m— _really_ excited,” he whispers. His voice cracks. “Louis and I have been waiting for a very long time to be dads.”

“How long?”

Harry can feel the crinkles by his eyes as his smile widens noticeably. “About as long as you’ve been alive, love.”

Raj drops his crayon and stops coloring. He meets Harry’s eyes, mouth hanging wide open. “But we’re _ten_ ,” he says, shocked, like his brain can barely comprehend someone living past that age. “Harry… You are so _old_.”

“And _I’m_ rude,” Karen mumbles, scoffing.

Harry doesn’t get a chance to answer either of them when the door to the room opens. He glances up, surprised when he finds that it’s Louis. His husband walks briskly into the room and catches his eyes immediately. He’s wearing a purple dress shirt today, the sleeves of it bunched up messily by his elbows. He looks like he’s been running around since seven in the morning—and he has, Harry knows—but there’s a smile on his lips and his eyes are _blublueblue_ and so happy.

He pulls up a seat next to Harry at the coloring table and twists it around so that when he plops down it’s with the back of the chair between his thighs. “Hey,” he kisses Harry’s cheek quick, a little breathless. “How’s the Little Bee treating you?”

“She’s alright,” Harry smiles. He watches Louis lean over and drop a similar kiss to the top of his belly, caressing the underside of it with gentle hands. “A little restless, but she’ll be better now that she knows you’re here.”

“Yeah? Is that so?”

“Mmm. She’s a bit of a suck up for you. Always eager to please.”

There is a sparkle in Louis’ eyes when he sits back up. “I wonder where she got that from.”

“We may never know,” Harry shrugs, nose scrunched up fondly, trying his best not to giggle.

Louis rolls his eyes and squeezes Harry’s thigh before turning to the rest of the table. “So,” he announces, clapping his hands together. “How are my two favorite patient-in-laws doing? You two alright? Not chewed each other’s heads off yet?”

“Not _yet_ ,” says Karen wistfully. She pauses from her doodling to give him a saccharine sweet smile, the picture perfect image of someone with hidden intentions. “How are _you_ , Lewie? We were are all just talking about naming your baby Karen. Raj and Hazza and I think it’s a very cute name. What do you think?”

“She’s lying,” Raj points out.

She is, but Harry can’t stop her. He can never stop Karen once she starts. He leans back in his seat, arms crossed atop his bump, and watches three of his favorite people interact.

“I am very well, thank you for asking. We’ll make sure to keep your name in mind when the time comes.”

“How much longer is that gonna be! I can’t wait forever, Lewis.”

“Two and a half more months,” answers Harry. He can tell by the look on Karen’s face that that’s far too long for her, but he must applaud her for not throwing a tantrum and telling him to _hurry it up_ like she did to one of the nurses a month ago. She’s been surprisingly nicer to him now that she knows for certain he’s carrying. Maybe she just didn’t appreciate being left out on the secret. Harry could understand that. “Do you think you can wait that long, Peanut?”

“I can wait that long,” Karen nods and sighs dramatically, as if they really are asking for a lot here. “I do not want to, but I will. Only if you promise to name her Karen.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?”

She stares at Louis like he’s grown a second head. Harry tries his best not to giggle because, Christ, the girl is intimidating. Raj doesn’t bother hiding his amusement, however. He cackles loudly on Louis’ behalf.

“Because I know everything,” Karen says matter-of-factly.

The corners of Louis’ lips go up, an amused smirk being born. “Then you probably already knew that I came down here to ask Harry out to dinner tonight, didn’t you?”

A look of surprise flickers in Karen’s eyes before it’s gone just as quick. She knows better than to show even the smallest hint of weakness. “Obviously.”

Harry turns his head to the side and looks at Louis, properly looks at him, and smiles. He’s understandably confused, but Louis looks so at ease just sitting here at a table meant for little kids with him. Louis with children is one of Harry’s favorite versions of him. “Why are we going out for dinner tonight?” he asks.

“Am I supposed to need a reason to take my spouse out for a dinner?” Louis raises an eyebrow at him. “We just haven’t gone out in a while, that’s all. I figured you could use a night out.”

“Ooo,” Raj tries to whistle suggestively. He pushes his art supplies to the side and slaps his hands onto the table, suddenly very attentive. “That sounds interesting. Can Karen and I come too?”

Louis nearly falls out of his seat from bursting out laughing. It’s funny, Harry admits, but it’s _not_ that funny. The three of them stare at Louis confused.

“Oh, God.” Louis blows out a breath when he’s settled down. “Sometimes I forget how funny you guys are. I should start getting Niall to come down here for lunch, you guys would kill him.”

Louis’ eyes are glassy, crinkled by the ends. Harry can feel the sun radiating off of him and he is warm beside him, even in the late of February. He sneaks one of his hands underneath the table and as Louis continues to indulge Karen and Raj in their silly, nonsensical conversations, Harry laces their hands together and squeezes.

His heart nearly skips a beat when Louis squeezes back.

⚓️

Later that night, Harry finds himself sitting in a restaurant across from Louis, unbearably hard in his pregnancy trousers.

(Becauses that’s a thing, unfortunately. _Pregnancy trousers_. Apparently there’s nothing Harry’s body can handle less than skinnies at this point, so his entire wardrobe must suffer with him. There’s a reason why he only wears pants around the house, and even that’s only to protect Blossom from being permanently scarred.)

“You’re looking at me funny again.”

Harry blinks. He’s been staring again. He wasn’t supposed to be so obvious about it, shit.

“Sorry.”

Louis puts his silverware down. Soft jazz plays quietly in the room, the lights dimmed and no one sat at the table beside them. Louis’ eyes look like the Mediterranean in the middle of the summer, his lips like caramel begging to be kissed away. He’d changed into a different dress shirt for dinner, one that matches his eyes beautifully, and Harry can’t help but gawk at how absolutely handsome his husband is.

Below the table, their ankles swing together, locked around each other. “You seem distracted,” Louis whispers.

That would be the understatement of the century.

“Don’t really have an appetite right now, that’s all.”

“ _You_?” Louis laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Not having an appetite? Now I know that’s a lie. You made me get up at two in the morning last night so I could make you fried chicken.”

Harry blushes. “Yeah, well…” Maybe the chicken was so good that Harry isn’t hungry anymore, or ever. Why is that so hard to believe?

“You sure that’s the only thing on your mind?”

He says it like he knows what Harry’s thinking; like he knows that Harry is hiding something. It’s both the best and worst feeling in the world, because Louis could very easily drag things on for as long as he wants, just to torture him.

And he might, Harry predicts. He knows what Harry is thinking—what he wants, the reason why his skin is flushed all the way down his neck and why he hasn’t had a single bite of his food—but he’s not going to give in that easily. Louis never gives in that easily. He’s going to make Harry work for it; spell it out for the whole restaurant and all of central London to hear.

“Louis,” Harry whimpers, quiet. His knuckles are white against the table. He can’t stop shaking his legs. He’s already on edge and they’re barely even touching.

“Harry.”

Louis’ voice is authoritative, unbothered. He goes back to eating his salmon, cutting up a piece of asparagus before lifting his fork into his mouth.

“Eat your dinner, love.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You might not be, but Karen Tomlinson probably is.”

And Harry laughs, despite himself, some of the tension between them cut quickly. He can always count on Louis to resort to comic relief.

“For future references, we’re both clear that we are one hundred and ten percent definitely not naming our child Karen, right?”

“I dunno, Haz,” Louis shrugs, chewing on his salmon. “You can name her whatever you want, but I’m not going to be the one who tells Karen her legacy’s gotta wait another round.”

“You want more, then?”

The seriousness in Harry’s voice gets Louis to stop his movements and meet his eyes. Harry’s stomach feels like a butterfly field, and not just because Bump chooses that very moment to kick. Another rush of adrenaline spikes through his veins. He’s tempted to pause their conversation for a moment so he can ask Louis to come around the table and feel their baby kick, because he knows how much his husband loves that.

Later, he tells himself.

“Well, yeah. Of course. Always. I kind of always see us with at least three or four kids, whenever I think about it. One seems like it’d be lonely.”

Which. Louis would say that, obviously. He’s one of seven children.

“One is lonely,” Harry tacks on in agreement, trying his best to sound human and not fish-mouth. He’s almost positive that he may drop dead in a moment or two. His heart has never beat this rapidly before. “Your mum, um. She told me… A while back… About how you used to call her when we first started dating. How many, um. How many kids did you want to have back then? When you first told her about us?”

Over the years they’ve talked about marriage and homes and children and building their lives together more times than Harry can count, but this is the first time that it’s real. It’s the first time that Harry is pregnant and their conversations aren’t merely fantasies; distant dreams for an alternate universe. Talking about having three or four kids (at least) is different than having three or four kids (at least).

This is real now. They aren’t talking about _what if_ anymore. They’re talking about _when_. They’re talking about _now_.

Louis rests his head against his palm. Harry watches his eyes gaze over him, pausing at his lips momentarily before meeting green again and settling. “Back then the number was closer to eight or nine,” he whispers honestly. “I was convinced we could beat me mum if we really tried hard enough. I was so determined.”

“ _Oh my God_.”

Harry is caught off-guard by the high-pitched, alien sounding cackles burst out of him. He laughs harder and louder than he has in weeks. He slaps his hands over his mouth to try and cover up the noise, but it doesn’t help much. He’s still painfully hard and close to tears, his chest hurting with every breath of laughter as he tries to contain himself.

It takes him a while to calm down. Luckily he’s so out of it that he doesn’t notice the strange looks others are throwing at his direction; so consumed by Louis before him. His food is cold by the time he rearranges himself into an actual human and wipes at his eyes.

“I’m not against trying, you know,” he says, a little breathless.

“Trying what?” Louis pauses where he’s stealing a bite of steak off of Harry’s plate. “You mean you want to try and beat my mum’s record, Harold? You do realize we’re not off to a great start right now.”

Johannah did have a decade ahead of him and Louis, but still.

“Will it count as cheating if we adopt quintuplets, or something? Or if we get seven surrogates going at the same time?”

“Alright, alright, you need to slow your roll,” Louis chuckles. He reaches across the table and pats Harry’s hand. “Settle down, Buttercup. One Tomlinson at a time, we’re not trying to do the impossible here.”

“For now,” Harry adds.

Louis stares at him for moment before lacing their hands together and nodding. “For now, yeah.”

⚓️

By the time Harry finally gets what he wants he feels like he’s aged a thousand years. He can’t remember the details of the second half of their dinner or how they make it home in one piece, but they do, and that’s all that matters.

All he cares about is the fact that his night ends with him completely naked, sitting on Louis’ cock. They don’t even make it past the living room, but that’s not a problem for Harry. He’s always been a fan of couch sex. It’s much easier to ride Louis in this position.

It’s kind of the only position that he can take it easily nowadays. His stomach is too big to get on his knees and when he’s on his back Louis feels so far away; never quite close enough. Standing up puts a strain on his already swollen ankles, but being bent over flat surfaces isn’t terrible. He still likes it that way. He can still take that.

It still doesn’t compare to riding, though.

When he has his back pressed against Louis’, when the sound of their thighs slapping together echoes in the silence of the room. Being able to feel Louis’ arms around his middle, sucking bruises into his neck and panting into his ears. Louis’ cock fucking into him, hips pistoning with a brute force. They are never closer than when they’re like this, never as attached as when they’re like this.

Harry loves it. He is starved for it. It’s his favorite place in the world.

All he can think about anymore is the dizzying sensation of Louis’ inside of him, stretching him wide and getting him wet. The ache of it, the burn of it. The rough slide of it haunts him at all hours of the day, and when he does finally get it, it feels so much better than even his most vivid memories.

He begs for Louis to pull at his hair, to play with his nipples until it hurts, and Louis listens. Louis does as he’s told. Louis tells him he loves him, Louis tells him how beautiful he is, carrying their baby inside of him. Louis turns his head by the chin and licks into his mouth, kisses him until Harry feels like he’s going to pass out.

Louis leaves bruises all along his shoulders and by the hips. He leaves behind teeth marks at the base of his neck and doesn’t stop with his hands until Harry’s chest is red, nipples sore and thick.

Every inch of Harry’s body aches in one way or another and he loves it. Sometimes he just needs to be _fucked_ , not made love to, and Louis understands that. He knows what Harry needs without him having to say it and tonight is no exception. The fact that Harry needs it to hurt, needs it to feel like he might collapse—Louis gets it. Louis knows.

His husband fucks him when his thighs give up and he can’t bounce on top of him any more. They come at the same time, orgasms bursting out of them like fireworks and knocking them out simultaneously. Harry feels himself getting slippery wet inside as he comes for ages and it makes him think about the fact that this is all it takes for them to bring a life into the world.

This. Them, together, addicted to and consumed by one another. This is where the universe begins and ends; where their bodies meet and their promises are embedded deep into each other’s skin.

Harry is blissed out of his mind by the time they make it out of the living room.

⚓️

Louis takes care of him afterward, too.

They soak in the tub for hours, until the candles burn out and the water goes cold. Louis scrubs in between his toes and kisses the soles of his feet, making him giggle in amusement. Harry washes Louis' hair for him, his fingers gentle and sure, lips grazing against his lips at every chance he gets. They clean each other off slowly, lazily, the time long forgotten as their hands work over one another’s bodies, fingertips taking in every detail for permanence; for a moment later in life.

When they get to bed Louis’ careful hands lather him up in cocoa butter. Harry suspects it’s more for Louis’ own pleasure than for him, but he doesn’t mind. He’s grateful to have a husband who cares for him so thoroughly, so lovingly. (Willingly.) Louis kisses the soft skin between his thighs for lifetimes. His mouth drops kisses behind his knees and trails all along his belly, whispering reverent praises into Harry’s skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats like a mantra, not an inch of space between them. “I love you.”

_I love you I love you I love you_

Harry can barely believe that there was ever a time in his life where he was sure that he didn’t deserve to be this happy; that the universe didn’t want him to be this happy.

With Louis pressed against him Harry kisses his husband languidly, slowly and deliciously, until he can’t anymore. He kisses him in thanks; in adoration. He kisses him just to taste him, to lick into his mouth and be closer to him, and he kisses him because it’s easy, it’s fun.

Because he wants to, and he can, and because Louis makes him feel like the sun; like the center of the universe.

Louis has made him the happiest person in the world. Louis has given him the sun.

⚓️

In the weeks that pass, Harry feels like he falls in love with Louis Tomlinson all over again.

He watches his husband in the operating theatre behind plexiglass windows, one hand on his belly as he narrates the details of it to their Bump. When they’re amongst their friends or families, Harry will sit beside him and watch him tell story after story and he’ll try his very best to tear his eyes away from him, but it proves to be impossible.

“Have you always been this funny?” Harry asks him one night after they’ve built the crib and are sprawled out on the floor of the nursery, hands over their aching bellies and trying their best to catch their breaths. Harry’s dimples ache; he feels like his smile hasn’t left his face in months.

“No,” Louis giggles, “you’ve just always romanticized my mediocre jokes because you’re in love with me.”

“Nah, I don’t think that’s true,” Harry whispers sleepily. He rolls over to him, stopping just by his side. He looks up at Louis from under his lashes. He counts every little freckle that dots his husband’s cheeks. “You’re the funniest person I know.”

Louis dismisses him with a roll of his eyes and a pinch to his bum, but Harry doesn’t think he’s wrong. Even when Louis resorts to physically tickling him into submission, Harry doesn’t give in. No one is as fun as Louis.

And it’s fun, even when it’s not. When every bone in Harry’s body aches and he’s overworked and sleep-deprived and on the verge of an emotional breakdown, Louis is still there to hold him and kiss his cheeks and make him laugh. He covers Harry’s rounds for him and sneaks him around the hospital in wheelchairs, racing in the halls against Liam and Niall during the middle of the day like a group of restless teenagers. He makes work tolerable, and he massages the ache out of his feet every night.

(Harry pays him back with a lot of sex and heated, pre-surgery snogging sessions. They’ve found it’s quite the motivational tool for Louis.)

Harry feels like the bigger his belly gets and the bigger their Bump gets, the bigger his love for Louis grows. He is convinced that their baby is falling in love with Louis too. He can feel her excitement every time Louis speak, the sound of his voice all the encouragement she needs to wiggle about inside of him. When Louis holds his belly, she goes wild with pleasure, kicking out until she finds Louis’ hand and then staying there, for as long as possible.

It blows Harry’s mind. He cries about it a lot more often than he’d like to admit, but he can’t help himself. No one prepared him for Louis Tomlinson. No one warned him that life could be this fucking good when you marry the love of your life.

“I want more,” Harry tells Louis over dinner early in May, their due date quickly catching up to them. Harry isn’t scared anymore. He doesn’t think anything could scare him at this point, not when he has Louis and their little girl. “I think we should have a lot more.”

“You do?”

Harry shoves a forkful of pasta into his mouth and nods his head.

“Still wanna beat my mum, huh?”

“It’s too tempting not to try,” Harry grins. Bump kicks happily at his belly in agreement.

Louis leans over his seat, giggling, and pressing his palm to her small foot. He shakes his head in amusement. “A little army of Tomlinsons it is, then.”

⚓️

When the time comes, Nina Tomlinson is eventually born in the middle of May on a bright, sunny day, just over seven pounds. She is _Sunshine_ , with ten little toes and ten little fingers, all of them pink and soft and sweet against Harry’s lips. She is born with a smile on her lips and dimples cratered deep in her cheeks, and no one is surprised. She is the sun, with her clear blue eyes and her father’s curls. She is the center of the universe, and she is finally theirs to hold.

⚓

_11 and a half years earlier_

Harry hates the first day of school. Granted, Harry kind of hates school all together, but he really isn’t a fan of the first day. It’s always terribly awkward and his sunburnt skin from the summer has never fully peeled off. Everyone always has better stories of their shenanigans over the break and nicer, newer clothes. They all manages to blossom into a fully formed Real Adults, growing into their bodies and strutting around in complete confidence.

And yet, Harry spent his summer dogsitting his neighbor’s chihuahua and trying to teach himself Mandarin so he could understand what the 12 years old cursing at him during Halo were saying. Plus he’s still got some of his baby chub around his hips even though he’s gawky and too tall for his liking now. His entire body is miraculously still a kind of contradiction, like a science experiment gone wrong, except no one really cares.

In all fairness, he doesn’t really hate school itself. He just hates how nervous it makes him every fucking year, and this year it isn’t any different.

Even though he’s officially in uni now, everything is the same. Everyone has cooler stories than him. Everyone has nicer clothes. Everyone has the perfect tan from sunbathing off the coast of Turkey. And meanwhile, Harry’s nose is still lobster red and he’s hiding out in the toilets during orientation like the grown, mature adult that he is.

It’s not even noon yet. Harry is off to a really bad start.

“ _Fuck_ , Harry—get your act together, you twat,” he curses at himself under his breath, annoyed with his pussyfooting around.

Why did he let his mum leave after move-in day yesterday? Why didn’t he convince her to kick his new roommate out and claim his bunk for the next four years? He could’ve pretended to sob a bit and guilt trip her, he’s sure of it. His mum would be great to live with. Harry’s had 18 years under her roof and he hasn’t tired of it, so.

He would pick his mum over this _Niall_ guy any day of the week.

He’s about to pull his phone out of his pocket to ring Gemma and beg her to come sneak him out school forever when he hears the door to the loos being opened.

Fuck.

He could’ve sworn he’d locked that.

Shit, buggering fuck.

Maybe if he stays super quiet, whoever it is won’t hear him. It’s not like it’s the Dean of students coming to hunt him down for missing out on his speech right now. No. That’s not possible. That would be ridiculous; Harry isn’t that important.

It just as he realizes this that his phone falls out of his hand and plops onto the floor.

Very smooth. Very subtle.

“Is someone in there?”

“Um.”

“Hello?”

“ _Shit_ ,” Harry curses again, his face beet red.

Dejected, he picks his phone up off the floor, checking quickly to make sure it’s not cracked. It’s not like he can continue hiding in this stall, he tells himself. Technically, he could, but that would just make things more awkward and Harry really feels like he should go out and apologize to this innocent bystander for his weirdness. He shouldn’t spend all four years of university hiding in the loo.

Why did his mum raise him to be such a kiss-ass? Where have his _manners_ ever gotten him?

Harry shuffles out of the stall, head bent and not making eye contact. He coughs nervously as he stares down at the linoleum floor and makes his way to the urinals.

 _Fuck_. Why is he peeing? He doesn’t need to pee. Why is he nervous peeing? Why is this stranger making him so nervous? He hasn’t even looked at the guy yet. He’s a grown adult; he is 18 years old, he shouldn’t be such a nervous mess all the time anymore.

Harry’s heart races wildly in his chest. He’s an idiot. He’s a massive, giant, unbelievable idiot, and now some random guy must think he’s completely off his mind.

_“Hi.”_

Harry’s train of self-conscious thoughts comes to a sudden halt. He hadn’t expected this voice to sound so lovely up close. It was a bit muffled when Harry heard him inside the stall, but now everything is much clearer, crisp.

He’s so wrapped up in how pretty just a simple _Hi_ sounds that he doesn’t realize the stranger is talking to him.

Him, as in Harry.

He’s talking to Harry. This person is talking to Harry.

Harry spins around so fast that he forgets he is still, in fact, peeing. And as luck would have it, of course the direction of it goes off and he ends up aiming directly on the stranger’s shoes. The worst part is that his brain, for some reason unbeknownst to Harry, doesn’t even have the decency to send a signal to his dick telling it _stop fucking peeing already right now immediately, please_.

When it finally does stop after what feels like a century later, Harry doesn’t know what to with himself. He can’t stop staring at his pee on this poor guy’s bright blue Vans. He coughs, nervously, and tucks himself back into his trousers. His cheeks feel like he’s flying face first into the sun. He wonders if he’s got enough in his bank account to repay this guy for permanently ruining his shoes.

“Oops,” he whispers instead, his voice small and ready to break.

Silence passes between him and his victim for a long moment. Harry is certain that it’s probably too late to get a refund on his tuition and move back home. He’s going to have to spend the rest of his life being dubbed The Guy Who Peed On A Stranger In The Loo.

“Are you…okay?”

The softness of the other person’s voice takes Harry by surprise. Whoever this guy is, he sounds… Sincere, almost. Like he’s less concerned about his shoes and more concerned about Harry’s well being and that just—

Harry picks his head up for the first time to look at him and feels his entire world stop suddenly when he meets baby blue eyes staring right back him, soft and crinkled by the edges. There is no bite behind them. They look amused, if anything, and there is a little smirk on this guy’s lips. His skin is golden—must have spent his summer off the coast of Turkey, Harry imagines—and it goes so perfectly with the gentle sweep of his fringe that he squeals a little. (Only on the inside, he swears. He has _some_ self control.)

“I’m Louis,” the other boys whispers, and Harry loses it.

Nina Simone starts singing in his head, her strong voice cooing lovingly.

_Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces_

_Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here_

“Hi,” Harry reaches his hand out, the smile on his face threatening to take over. “I’m Harry.”

_Here comes the sun, here comes the sun_

Louis— _Louis_ , lovely, wonderful Louis—wraps his hand around  Harry’s much larger own and Harry swears that every little atom in his body vibrates in awe. Maybe one day he’ll get to tell this Louis how about the sparks that went off the first time they touched. Maybe, if he should be so lucky.

Harry probably shouldn’t fantasize so far into the future. It’s not good to get your hopes up so high, he’s learned.

Louis shakes his hand anyway.

“It’s nice to meet you, Harry.”

⚓

**Author's Note:**

> i will never admit to having written this no one @ me


End file.
